Puzzles
by Caroline Jessamine
Summary: Piece by piece by piece, Michael and Fiona fit together the complications of their past, finding and eliminating old enemies on the journey to their future.
1. Chapter 1

Puzzles

These entertaining characters do not belong to me. They belong to the USA network, the genius of Matt Nix, his writers and the talented actors who give us human faces to see them more clearly. With thanks for letting me borrow them for a while.

He was watching her sleep, using only his eyes to touch her.

A fleeting fear had stabbed him awake, but this time the instinct to reach for the gun under his pillow never surfaced.

He'd controlled twitchy nerves and muscles instead of slipping into the fight or flight state he'd found himself in once too often lately.

A flick of a glance told him he had not disturbed her, and he was grateful. If there was one thing Michael really, really was not ready for, it was another round of Fiona's loving sympathies which seemed to be part of her plan to put him and his loft in order.

Before she moved in, she would have sprinkled spicy Irish temper on her sympathy. Now, she tugged him close, kissed him, watched him and held her silence. Mostly. He expected her temper. He missed it.

He wanted his life back, too, and now that he'd gotten it, he still wasn't sure what he had.

Except now he knew the sweet-smelling woman who slept so peacefully next to him loved him enough to die with him.

Her loving generosity had stolen his breath and humbled him before, but when she flew through that lashing storm of gunfire with a life or death promise, he found he still could not take in the magnitude of that single action.

He thought her love was conditional, but now, he realized he didn't understand what her conditions were. All he knew was he wanted everything she could give him. Everything.

Michael was troubled by his inability to balance Fi's loyalty with his fear that she would eventually tire of his determination to find all the answers to all the puzzles that had tangled them together the past four years.

He had so many questions. There were so many inconsistencies in what he'd learned in his short time back with the CIA. He was good at puzzles. Finding pieces, putting them in order. Eventually, they had told him job well done, job finished, thanks and we'll get back to you.

But there were too many puzzle pieces left; he knew it wasn't finished.

Michael had not figured out what to do with his new cease-fire existence because something was off. Not quite right. And the more he asserted that all was not right in the world of secrets revealed, the more he found himself turning away from her. Fi asked him to stop, just stop, and shred all that was his past.

He knew she was right. He wanted to, but . . . he couldn't.

He saw the disappointment in her eyes last night when she found him scouring his files for an answer to a question he couldn't yet formulate.

It's a new day, she argued softly. "Let's move on. Please."

Here, watching her sleep, he kept stumbling over the unpleasant idea that if he couldn't put the past behind him, then maybe she would. She could walk away again. Only this time maybe another O'Neill would be there to harm her, and he wouldn't be there to protect her.

Or maybe, she would do what he had done to her, and simply disappear. She could use her exceptional skills to re-invent herself and then . . .

And then, she'd put him in a memory box and bury it.

The thought was so distressing he shivered in the sultry air.

They were equals in so many ways, the yin and the yang, the warp and weft, polar opposites, light and dark, the He and the She. Different, and always equals.

He swallowed a sigh as Fiona shifted in her sleep, and moved slightly toward him stretching her arms above her head. The movement brushed away the sheet that had half covered her, completely exposing her to him.

Ambient light from a mercury vapor lamp at the edge of the warehouse property provided illumination through heavy double paned windows. It was enough to see the gentle rise and fall of her chest, to trace the long, silken tangle of hair that slid against her cheek and neck, hugged her collarbone and caressed the edge of her breast.

Some things are so beautiful, they bring pain to vision.

He realized the first time he had memorized her like this, was the first time he'd left her. In Ireland.

There had been a fierce north wind blowing that night. It shuttled through the creaking farmhouse they used as a safe house, conveniently aiding and abetting the sound of his departure. He left the warm nest of their bed and dressed quickly, then stood there aching to touch her one last time. If she would have awakened, he wasn't sure he would have been able to leave.

Because it was then, in that very instant, Michael recognized he had just found the other half of his soul. Until that moment, there was nothing in his life experience to make him believe such a thing existed.

From that moment forward, everything changed. He'd broken his life into compartments-before Fiona, and after Fiona.

He tried to keep track of where she was from afar, but it was extremely difficult to do without telegraphing a personal interest, which would have endangered her as much as himself. Twelve months and seventeen days later, he found her again after quietly maneuvering as many things as he could to make sure he would be near her in the same area of the same country.

When she saw him, she reacted quickly and he found himself flat on his back with the business end of her 9mm jabbed under his chin. He could have dislodged her at any time, but didn't because she deserved her revenge and anger. His apology had been honest and utterly unacceptable. He could tell by what he saw in her eyes she had missed him as much as he missed her.

Long minutes later, Fiona decided she couldn't put him and his government-sponsored lies out of her misery with a Walther. She fell on him with a passionate hunger that he returned in equal measure. Remembering that long night was what he reached for every time he needed healing.

Their relationship was different after she learned the truth of his identity. She was more guarded, more careful when she revealed her feelings. Their next decade crossed time zones and nations. It had been filled with tumultuous reunions, explosive couplings and afflictive departures. It wasn't until he nearly lost her here in Miami for the second time that tenderness and peace permanently entered their equation.

An hours' old memory of a sweet and slow kiss compelled him to shift to his side to study her lithe form. He knew every intimate inch of her body, the tiny, pale leaf-shaped freckles on her cheek, every faded scar that bit into her arms and her legs. Two inches below her last rib on the left in one tiny spot, airbrushed kisses could prove she was ticklish. There and there only.

Michael could see the clock on the table next to the bed. It was blinking 1200, indicating a power outage had occurred sometime after they'd gone to bed. Sometime after the thunderstorm outside, and sometime after the one they shared inside.

The dark blue of night was fading into pale grey light as he watched Fi's ribs move with a slow, peaceful cadence. The gentle dip of her bare stomach revealed a soft swell. His gaze narrowed as he sharpened his focus to see what was right there before him, now so beautifully apparent in the dim morning light.

That precious, rounded bump was not his imagination.

Instinctively, he gently laid his hand across her abdomen. Something close to joy gripped his heart and held tight.

His movement prompted Fi to turn toward him.

She brushed a kiss across his chest, moved her leg over his and wrapped her arm around his waist, compelling him to move his hand away from what he knew with a certainty like no other, was his child.

His arm curved up and around her; he pulled her close. She snuggled closer.

"Mmmm, I'm really getting used to this bed, Michael, with you in it." She slid up his body to rest her cheek on his chest.

A few minutes later she pushed herself up abruptly, and met his steady grey blue gaze with one of her own. "Your heart rate's up. Did you have another bad dream?"

"No." He smiled.

"So . . ."

He just kept smiling.

"You look . . ." Fi's eyebrows drew together at Michael's grin.

"Happy, Fi. I'm happy." He wrapped his arms around her and gently pulled her into a tender kiss.

She returned the sweet gift, then rested her cheek on his chest. "Me, too."

A sharp, loud bang against the heavy metal door that barred the outside world from theirs punctured the early morning stillness. They were upright and arming themselves within seconds.

Since they'd moved in together, Sam and Jesse had started calling before they came over. Madeline called, too, but generally with an invitation for them to join her at her home. She wasn't fond of the loft. Max would have called, too. Which meant whoever was on the other side of the door at this hour probably wasn't a friendly.

Michael pulled on the jeans he'd dropped at the side of the bed the night before, while Fi grabbed a fluffy white robe. She moved to his right, aimed at the door while he unlocked the door, swung it open. His .45 was pointed at the couple on the top step.

There stood the last people on earth Michael would have expected.

And one of them had a very unpleasant expression on her face. He swung the door wider so they could come in then flicked the safety on and tucked the gun in the back waistband of his jeans.

Mum!" Fi shrieked. "Mum! What are you doing here?

Michael glanced at Fi's brother Sean who was standing behind the older, louder and smaller red-headed version of Fi and knew things were going to get a lot more complicated.

Ena Glenanne had never been a member of his fan club, but he did owe her for one of the scars on his clavicle after she stitched up a shoulder wound and allowed him to hide in her home for six hours a lifetime ago.

She didn't like him then, and judging by the fierce expression on her face, it looked like she hadn't changed her opinion.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"What's wrong?" Fi demanded.

It had been almost eight years since she had last seen her mother. She didn't realize she'd missed her, and she didn't expect for the lump in her throat to arrive, but there it was.

Fi knew the fact that she was here meant something was seriously wrong. Ena had said upon more than one occasion that she hadn't lost anything in America, so there was no reason go.

They had never been close; Fi always believed her mother favored her sons more than her daughters, and after Claire was killed, Fiona had never found a good reason to strengthen her relationship with her mother. That had been complicated by her loyalty Michael, of course.

Ena gathered her oldest daughter into a hug. "How I missed you, girl, but I can't say the same for your gentlemen friend." She glared at Michael. "McBride."

"Westen," Michael corrected.

"That's right. The spy. Just another scoundrel."

"Now, mum," Sean warned. "We need his help, and he's been watchin' over Fi all this time. You needn't talk to him-"

"I'll talk to him how I like, boy. He's a liar, that's a fact." Ena Glenanne wore the same practiced, regal air Fi did when she was in a snit-spine straight, chin up and defiant. She glanced at Michael, still shirtless, with disgust clearly visible on her small, even features.

"So, boyo, you got my girl pregnant yet? Knew you were nothin' but trouble the first time I met ya. See you're livin' in sin with her here, least that's what it's lookin' like to me." She looked pointedly at the rumpled bed nearly in the middle of the room.

Fi gasped, her face drained of color. "Mum!"

Michael's ears turned red, but he calmly turned around, grabbed a t-shirt from a laundry basket and pulled it on before turning back to Sean. He crossed his arms over his chest.

When a Glenanne woman was in attack mode, you needed armor, and then you removed yourself from her line of fire any way you could. Didn't matter if she spoke with an Irish brogue or a sanitized and Americanized version of it. Glenanne women, he had decided, took anger to shock and awe levels.

"What's going on, Sean?"

Fiona's brother was looking healthier than he had when they said their farewells three years ago, but he was clearly worried about something or he wouldn't have smuggled himself and his mother back to Miami.

"O'Neill's escaped from prison. Bastard's on the run and he's headed this way. He's got support but we don't know who 'tis. My brothers are taking care of each other back home, and tryin' to figure out who's helping he bastard and how he got out. We figured Fi and Mum would be easy targets. And I'm not trustin' phones these days. Somebody's tapped in on us."

"Wouldn't it have been safer to stay in Ireland? Get to safe house?"

"Thought so, until mum's place got firebombed. He's got friends, the same kinda friends he had here last time he tried this. He swears he's killin' the whole Glenanne clan. I can't let that happen."

"He's already tried to kill two of your brothers," Ena said. She spotted the loft kitchen area and moved that direction. "Fiona, do you have some decent tea in this dump?"

Fi wrapped the bathrobe's belt tighter and followed her mother.

Sean looked up at Michael. "I'm apologizin' for my mum. She shoudn'ta said what she did to you and Fi," he said quietly. "I need your help again, Michael."

"Don't worry about it. You got here by ship?"

"Yeah, Mum's kinda cranky about that but I didn't have much choice."

Michael understood. "Well, then, she's probably tired and needs to rest. You remember my mom. Let's get you over there. Hey, Fi, hold up. We're going to mom's."

Ena looked at her daughter who was filling an oversized kettle with fresh water. "He has a mother?"

"With a guest room," Michael said, reaching for his cell phone.

By 9 a.m. Michael and Fi were headed back to the loft.

Ena finally had her cup of tea at Madeline's, and while Michael and Sean talked to Sam about what spurred the impromptu Glenanne visit to Miami, Fi talked to her mother and helped her get settled in Maddie's guest room which had been Michael and Nate's childhood bedroom.

Sean had decided to bunk in Maddie's garage even though the Charger remained in various stages of repair there, while Sam went to tap into his information sources about Thomas O'Neill.

They agreed to meet with Michael and Fiona later at the loft to make plans.

"I'm sorry about what my mother said to you," Fiona said quietly. They were in Fiona's car and Michael was driving them back to the loft.

"It's okay, Fi." He smiled. "You never have to guess where you stand with her."

She glanced over to him. "Never."

"You know," he started, "it's going to take Sam a while to get what we need."

Fiona yawned. "Good. I'm tired. I need a nap."

"Could we talk first, Fi?" Michael asked softly.

"Sure."

He got out of the car to unlock the moveable metal wall that separated them from the warehouse district, drove in then pulled the gate shut and padlocked it while Fi climbed the stirs and unlocked the loft door.

She was in house-keeping mode, when Michael joined her in the loft. He locked the door behind him and waited until she was finished straightening the bed and hanging up her robe.

"Michael, now that I think about this, it's probably not a good idea putting our mothers together. You should know your mom thinks we should-"

"You're right, Fi. But can you see your mother staying here?"

She smiled. Michael leaned down and placed a quick kiss on her lips before he gently slid his hand across her abdomen. He didn't have time to waste on subtlety.

"When were you going to tell me?"

Fi's eyes grew wide. She backed away and held up her hands, as if to ward him off. Apology and fear clashed in her expressive eyes.

"How did you . . . ?"

He moved closer. She backed away again, so he stopped.

Her panicked response was not what he was expecting. "Fi?"

"No, I mean, yes. I mean . . . I don't." She paused and inhaled deeply as if to calm herself. "I have a test kit, but I haven't used it. But even if . . . maybe, I might not or maybe . . . " Fi snapped her mouth shut.

At the moment she looked very much like a kitten out on a limb with nothing to hold on to. At least she stopped backing away from him. He clasped her shoulders with both hands and smiled. "Not making sense, Fi."

"I'm sorry. I don't think . . ." She looked away from him.

"Don't think . . . what? You're pregnant?"

Then Fiona did something she rarely did, and never, ever had done with Michael. She allowed him to see tears gather in her eyes.

"Fiona?"

She pulled it away, walked across the room and reached for the cavernous handbags she currently favored. She brought out a blue and white box and turned toward the small loft bathroom.

"Why don't I just take the damned test now and then we'll both know, OK?"

He'd heard stories about pregnancy and how women became irrational and emotional, and whenever he'd had that fleeting thought about Fiona being pregnant, he couldn't see her behaving either emotionally or irrationally. It just didn't fit.

It struck him then, that if Fi was pregnant, maybe she didn't want to be. Maybe she wouldn't think it was a good thing. Every emotion in his body twisted into a hard knot in the pit of his stomach.

Fiona lost track of time after the damned two minute test produced its verdict.

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, she'd splashed cold water on her face. Twice. Freshened her hands. Brushed her hair off her neck and looped it in a high knot. Composed her features in front of the mirror, but her eyes wouldn't cooperate.

She had no intention of letting him see she'd been crying. He was too damned observant as it was, and besides, a red, blotchy face was so unattractive. So she waited; it took a little longer to steel herself and cloak her emotions.

The truth was, she didn't need the test kit. It just verified what she already knew. She'd been keenly aware of the changes in her body, and should have expected he would see them, too. She just hadn't figured Michael would be this observant, not with everything else going on in his life.

If she was right, she was eight weeks into her pregnancy. In her personal medical history, this was an extremely dangerous time for her.

It must have happened after he came back the first time his new CIA buddies felt safe enough to let him out of their sights.

They could not go slow that night, not for a moment, not that she would have wanted it any other way. But they had been reckless. No, she corrected herself, sternly. Michael had been considerate, thoughtful. She was the one who had been reckless, just like every time before.

Looking at that plus sign on pregnancy test stick, she realized she was being witlessly foolish. Reckless, again.

Really, just how stupid could one woman be, she berated herself, if she'd already had two miscarriages, both at eight weeks? The first was horrifying, and now, today, her mother's arrival in Miami churned those old, painful emotions into something raw and fresh.

If there was one thing she did not want to happen again, it would be for her mother to witness another loss like that. Fiona detested that anyone see her in that helpless, out of control, weakened state, completely unable to unable to protect herself.

She took a deep, cleansing breath, and made a decision. She was going to dig out one of her an old IDs, swallow her fear and get herself to an OB/GYN office as soon as possible.

She held her hands out to make sure they no longer were shaking.

Michael had always deserved explanations, and she had always been too much of a coward to tell him how she lost, then mourned the children they never had. She had never understood how desperately she wanted Michael's children until they were gone. Even if he didn't want this child now, she did. So she'd better take care of him or her.

He didn't notice her return. He was standing on the balcony, talking on the phone.

"Yeah, Max, I'll be there," he said. As if he felt her presence, he turned and looked straight into her eyes as he folded the phone shut.

"Well, Michael, it was positive. I'll find a doctor this week. Maybe when you get back I'll have the dates and all that sort of thing." She was grateful to have a reason to change the subject. "I know you can't tell me where, but how long will you be gone this time? Do you know?"

He closed the distance between them to draw her into a big warm embrace that weakened her knees. "You okay?"

She pulled away. "So how long will you be gone?"

He persisted. "Don't know. Fi, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. A little tired. I think that's normal or something." 

He studied her face. "You don't want to talk about this?"

When she walked away, he followed.

"What's to talk about?" she deflected. "I'm going to the doctor; you're going with Max. We'll figure this out later, right? And, we still have to figure out what to do to keep my mum and Sean safe."

"Please?" Michael persisted. "Can we just talk about our child?"

He could not have known the internal destruction created in her when he said those two words: our child. She would have stumbled but Michael hadn't already stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry. We need more information before we can . . . "

"Together, Fi. We're doing this together, I want to-"

He stepped around to look down into eyes and cupped her cheek with his hand. There was nothing she wanted more than to wrap her arms around him and weep with equal measures of sorrow and joy. Instead she pulled away and walked toward the door, grabbing her bag and cell phone.

"Fi?" He stood still, watching, waiting, puzzled.

"I'm taking the car. Sam will be here soon, unless you think you'll need the car before then?" She slung her tote bag over her shoulder.

"I thought you wanted to rest."

She ignored that.

"Stay safe out there, okay?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

In trying to make sense of what had just transpired, Michael was pacing a steady path between the rusty metal stairs to the loft office and the open doors to the deck.

He wanted to drag Fi back, make her sit and tell him what was going through that too-smart-for-her-own-good brain. And then he wanted to make love to her. But that would be pointless.

Fi didn't do what Fi didn't want to do. Period.

He stopped pacing when Sam arrived. Sean was right behind him.

"What's up, Mikey?" Sam asked as he slapped a small file folder on the workbench and walked around to open the refrigerator. He pulled out a beer, then held another up, offering it to Sean. "Need a yogurt, Mike?"

"No. So what have we got here, Sam?"

"I'm thinking we might just get to sit this one out, keep a watch on Sean and Fi and her mom and let the feds take over. O'Neill's on every list you can imagine, and his associates here are being watched as well. Last known sighting of him was in Dublin."

"I know."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Of course you do, but yeah, got that info from Jesse. He's got a sweet set up, and he's pretty tapped in. So, what do you say? Stay safe and sit on the sidelines for this one unless things change?"

"Just wait, Axe," Sean said with disgust. "There ought to be something we can do besides wait for someone else to take care of O'Neill."

"There is," Michael said. "We're going to make some nice air-tight plans on how everyone here is going to stay safe while Thomas O'Neill is being hunted."

A couple of hours later, Michael flipped open his phone and tried to reach Fi again. She wasn't picking up. And she wasn't at his mother's house, either. He wanted to talk to her before he had to leave the country, but he needed to get to the airport now.

She knew he was leaving, but she didn't know when. He found himself desperate to talk to her but didn't want to telegraph that to Sam or Sean. She was upset about being pregnant, but he realized something else was going on and he didn't have clue what it was.

"She's still not answering, huh?" Sam watched Michael snap his phone shut, impatience written in every precise movement. "Come on, I'll give you ride, brother. She probably stopped at a shoe sale. Coming, Sean?"

Michael grabbed his bag and shrugged into his suit jacket. "Yeah, thanks, Sam."

Fiona liked Amelia's Place. Carlitos was a home base, but this was her kind of restaurant, a small, private hideaway from the rest of the team, yet nearby and in plain sight.

She could come here, take her time, relax and have a reasonable expectation of privacy and safety.

It was a place where she would never run into anyone from the underworld she frequented either by herself or with Michael.

It was a bit out of the way. Sparkling clean and small, it had a menu that appealed to her. The cafe's decor was perfect, too, as was the layout. Two exits behind her, one clearly visible in front. Restroom to the left with no exit; kitchen to the right with two exits into an alley. Lovely indoor greenery, arching ficus trees. She liked the cool but cozy corner booth, the greenery, the plantation blinds to one side and the exits behind her.

It was a perfect sanctuary in which to absorb everything that had happened today. She was taking stock, trying to quell the incipient helplessness of being out of control. She envisioned another self hovering above, watching as a strong, capable woman fell apart and disintegrated.

Her phone vibrated on the table. So far she had ignored every single one of Michael's calls. All eleven of them. Then phone winked at her, the light indicating a new text message. She opened it up.

"Leaving now, back fast as I can. Love You."

She closed the phone and blinked away tears. Damn, tears were becoming a habit. How as dare he say Love You!

Michael was all Show, no Tell.

He would throw himself in front of a truck to save your life, but he would never just say something as simple as I Love You. But then, she didn't do that either. No, Michael did not say things like Love You, and he certainly didn't text them, which was why she saved that message instead of hitting delete.

She studied the brochures she laid on the table. Now that she'd read them all, she closed them and smoothed her finger over the text she had burned into a memory bank.

After she left Michael at the loft earlier, she'd opened the browser on her phone and located a doctor. She called to make an appointment and was equally astonished and unprepared to find she had appointment within the hour. The receptionist had just taken a cancellation. Fiona had the odd sensation that there was some grand hand directing her movements today.

Apparently, the owner of the directorial grand hand had a sense of humor.

It turned out, she had been oh, so very, very wrong about everything.

Everything.

She wasn't eight weeks pregnant, she was closer to eighteen weeks. Maybe nineteen. The doctor wasn't worried about the babies, their size, or hers.

She was as healthy as any expectant mother should be, though he admonished her to stop running and walk instead. Yoga for pregnant mothers, he advised, was a great idea, so she needed to continue. To stay healthy. For her babies.

Babies. Plural.

Not only was she healthy and strong, so were her babies. Despite the earlier miscarriages, the doctor told her there was no reason to believe history would repeat itself now. He told her she was lucky. Lucky.

She had no morning sickness. No weird cravings. Nothing but a some tenderness in her breasts and barely visible bump. The doctor predicted her current state of a non-visible pregnancy would change rapidly.

She had another appointment in two weeks. The doctor had asked about her husband, and when she said she wasn't married, he switched the words he used and said he hoped her Significant Other could be there with her for the next visit. If they wanted, they could learn if she was having girls or boys or one of each.

Her Significant Other? How could she focus on that when her world was splitting into twos?

One of each?

Babies. More than one. Two. Twins. Two. Two heart beats. Two tiny humans. Two children. Twenty fingers. Twenty toes.

She was stunned. The doctor wasn't. Older mothers often have twins. Older mothers?

The clinic was a sophisticated, state of the art OB/GYN facility and birth center. She arrived with an intense worry about carrying a child past eight weeks. She left with a handful of brochures, a sample package of prenatal vitamins and a prescription for more. A sonogram image of what was clearly two small human bodies. And brochures: Your Pregnancy and You. You're Having Twins! Prenatal Healthcare-Dos and Don'ts. The last item they'd tucked in her information packet was a cluster of diaper coupons without expiration dates.

For Fiona, the future was a frightening unknown despite all the available information.

She could not wrap her mind around the idea that there would be two new human beings in the world who would be hers and Michael's, which is probably why she didn't respond immediately when Jesse stopped by her table.

He was tall, broad-shouldered and handsome, had a great smile, and was as good a friend as anyone could hope for. He also fell into the category of people she did not want to see today, but there he was.

"Hey, Fi, is this a great little place or what?"

He looked down and smiled. "Just had lunch with the woman of my dreams. She works on the floor below . . . "

His eyes had strayed to the brochures Fi had sitting in front of her. Reading type upside down was a standard skill for anyone who did their kind of work.

Uninvited, he slid into the booth seat across from her and grinned hugely. "Twins?"

"Yes." She smoothed her fingers over the sonogram.

Jesse laughed. "Mike is -"

She cut him off. "Michael. Doesn't. Know." She swallowed, and looked away from him. "Yet."

Her phone vibrated on the table, and they both looked down and watched as the message screen popped up.

When Fiona didn't pick it up, Jesse frowned at her.

"You're not taking that? It's Mike, right?"

"I'm letting sleeping phones lie. "

Jesse leaned back in the seat. "You two having a fight or something?"

She shook her head. "We're not fighting."

"You don't seem very happy about this."

There was no short answer for that, so she said nothing.

Jesse's smile slipped away. He studied her face for a moment. "You're keeping the babies, right?"

That question was an icy splash of reality. Fi looked up. "How can you even ask that? Of course we're keeping the babies. Michael had already guessed . . . I'm just . . . "

She didn't know how to explain the morass of emotion she was feeling to Michael, much less to a friend like Jesse.

"Sorry I asked. No, forget I asked. That was waaay out of line," Jesse admitted. "It's just, you're not looking so good here."

Fi snapped back. "I am not having a bad day. I'm having twins."

"Sorry, Fi," Jesse repeated as he slid out of the booth and stood up. "Forget I was here. Forget I asked that stupid question. Just know I'm happy for you and Mike. You okay here?"

"Fine. I'm fine."

Jesse turned to leave then looked back. "You're not fine." He sat back down.

Despite the fact that they once shared a much too sexy kiss as a cover move while on a stakeout, that their friendship had been destroyed before being restored to full strength during the battle with Vaughn's evil empire, as Sam liked to call it, Jesse was her friend. A solid ally and someone she would always trust. When he gave up his reacquired government job and returned to Miami, it was Fi, Sam and Madeline who formed his welcoming committee. She helped him shop for furniture just last month for his new townhouse.

"I'm probably hormonal or something," Fi muttered.

He laughed when she said that. "Expecting twins? Yeah, I'd say so. But there's something else going on with you, just saying'."

"I so detest being obvious."

"Fi, twins are, well, twins. That's a whole lot of baby stuff to think about. You worried Mike might not stick around for this? Like until they're in college or go to basic training?"

"You're thinking they're boys?"

"I'm thinking you're changing the subject."

Fi couldn't hold Jesse's steady gaze. He put his hand on top of hers, the same one she was using to shield the sonogram.

"He may not want to stick around."

Jesse raised an eyebrow. "Can't believe that one."

Fiona didn't have women friends. Most of her friends were men, and in the past few years, that list had shrunk to Sam and Jesse. Madeline was as close to a woman confidant that she had, but there were some things she could never discuss with Michael's mother. She could tell Sam and Jesse things another woman wouldn't, and she had learned they would protect her privacy and not judge her.

Which was why, with just a few sentences she told Jesse about hiding the misery of two miscarriages a decade apart, neither of which Michael knew about because she'd never told him, and her fear about how he would respond to her dishonesty.

"He hates that," she said, shaking her head. "You know how he hates that."

The silence of friendship stood between them for several long minutes.

"Fi, I've never had family or someone in my life like you and Mike have each other, so from here, I got to say this doesn't look like a problem. If you trust your man with your life, why wouldn't you trust him with this . . . history?"

Fiona mulled that over. "Maybe I'm a just a coward. A girly coward."

She started gathering the brochures and stowed them in her bag. Her phone buzzed again, announcing another new message. She slipped it in her pocket without looking at it.

"You're right about the girl part," Jesse said, grinning. "Aw, Fi, we all have things we're afraid of. Now, where's your car, woman, so I can walk you to it?"

"I don't need to be escorted."

He pushed through the restaurant door behind her. "No, you don't, but I do."

Half a block away, he held open her car door. "Come on, get in. You've made me late getting back to work."

Fi kissed his cheek before she climbed into her car. "Thanks, Jesse."

He watched as she pulled into traffic and turned to walk back to his place of business. He opened his phone and sent Michael a text: Fi's fine. That woman lovvvves you.

Twenty minutes later Jesse got a text reply: Thnx.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

For as much as she wanted to be alone, Fi knew she had to show up at Madeline's tonight. By now Sam would have let everyone know about Michael's call to duty. And her mother was probably expecting her.

She headed back to the loft to freshen up, hide the evidence of her visit to the doctor, and change into a more comfortable pair of jeans. And, she could listen to Michael's voice mail messages and read his text messages in private. One after another she deleted them, and finally heard his last one.

"Aw, Fi, just call me back. I need to talk to you. I just need you . . ." Michael's final message undid all her fine work with blush and mascara. Damn, now she had to start over. 

Sam stretched his legs under the table and slapped his cards down. "Ena, you sure you never worked in Vegas? Reno?"

"No, I haven't, lad," Fi's mom said, scooping up the spoils. "But I'm thinkin' I might need to visit there before I go home."

"That shouldn't be long," Sam advised. "O'Neill's got more people looking for him here and overseas than you can imagine."

He heard the sound of Fi's car in the driveway and stood up. The girl deserved a heads up to what the mothers had in store for her.

"Hey, gotta talk to Fi for a sec, ladies." Sam slid the chair back and stood.

Sean had been watching TV, flipping channels looking for any news that might relate to O'Neill. He clicked it off and slid into Sam's seat and glanced at the neat piles of cards and coins. "Been a while. I forgot people do this for fun."

"Been a while, huh?" Maddie observed shrewdly. "Really?"

Sam grabbed a beer from Maddie's refrigerator and stepped out in time to intercept Fiona. He drew a circle with his finger indicating they should turn and walk to the garage at the rear of the property for a private conversation.

They stepped inside, keeping the house in sight. If anyone was coming they'd see them easily.

"Hey, Fi, gotta warn you about something. Ah, this mixing up the Westen and Glenanne mothers wasn't one of Mikey's better ideas. They get along pretty good, so put your game face on when you go in there. They got the whole thing planned out-wedding shower, ceremony, honeymoon, new house, everything. Kids, even."

At the brief flash of panic on Fiona's face, Sam understood. "Ah, so not in that order?"

It wasn't that hard to put the pieces together, between Mike's mumblings at the airport and now Fiona's response. Sam noticed she was fine right up until he said the word kids. He studied her closely. Yeah, women get that look when they're pregnant. Can't help it. And Fi had that look. Vulnerable. Soft. Very soft.

"Sam . . . I, uh . . ."

Sam had seen Michael's favorite female in many guises, but none of them were soft. This one,though, was affecting him in a surprising way.

Right before his eyes, Fiona Glenanne turned into a damsel in distress who would never admit to being in distress, given that she most likely was armed with a couple of knives and a handgun on her person. It didn't change his evaluation that she needed his help.

"What do you need me to do, Fi?"

She shrugged. "Backup?"

"That can be arranged. First thing, we're going to have to figure out where you been all day. That's been bugging the moms. Now me, I don't care. You're a big girl. And, oh, yeah . . . yeah," he tilted his head to get a better look. "You're going to have explain those eyes."

"What's wrong with my eyes?" Fi's lightning-fast response sputtered quickly. Her shoulders slumped when she understood where Sam was going with this.

"Like you been, ah, teary. Allergies? Yeah, you got allergies. Which'll explain why you're not going to be drinking anything besides iced tea, right?"

"Right. Thanks, Sam." Fi seemed genuinely grateful for his help. "Did Michael . . .?"

"He didn't have to say a thing. You got the look, you know?" Sam smiled. That straightened her spine.

"What look?"

"Seen it before. You're in family way, kid. And by the way, those two women in there, they know that look, too, so stay sharp."

"Sam, nobody says family way."

"OK then, you're preggers. Congratulations, Fi. But if you want to keep this to yourself for a while, you've got your work cut out for you. Those are grandmas in there."

Fi blinked. Apparently she hadn't considered that yet. "They are, aren't they?"

"I'm guessing this news is not for public consumption?"

"No."

"Then we're good to go." Sam grinned and polished off the rest of his beer. "By the way, I'm sleeping on that couch in the office at your place tonight. Until O'Neill is out of action or Mike gets back, whichever comes first."

Normally, Fiona would have argued, but she didn't have the energy. 

Sam timed the conversation just as they reached the back steps to the house. "You know, Fi, I had the same thing when I first got here. Hell of a time with that. Some kind of mold that grows here. My eyes were burning all the time, felt like they were on fire. Did they give you some of those expensive eye drops?"

"No," Fiona replied. "Just a pill. The doctor said it'd take about a week of taking it before it really started working well."

Maddie overheard. "What's the matter, Fiona?"

"Something wrong with my girl?" Ena chimed in.

"Allergies, that's all. Went to the doctor today and got some medication. I'm fine. Just a little drippy."

"Are you sure that's not the weather?" Ena asked. "It's awful, all this heat and humidity? I thought I was walkin' into brick wall when I got here. How do you stand it, or breathe?"

"I like it, Mum. Good for the skin."

"Not mine," Ena disagreed.

The card game was over, and Maddie had started pulling boxes and bowls out of the refrigerator. "Fiona, set the table. Sam you help. Don't worry, I didn't cook. It's takeout-Cuban sandwiches and salads."

"I'm not known for my cookin' either, Madeline," Ena said. "Always too busy doin' somethin' else."

Sean agreed. "Buildin' bombs. That's why Da was the cook."

Madeline laughed. "So that's where Fi got that skill."

Ena shook her head. "No, she picked that up on her own, after she left home."

Sam changed the subject. Dinner ended, table cleared. All was well with the world until he saw the mothers share a glance.

He grimaced. Wait for it, wait for it.

"Fiona," Ena started. "Madeline and I want to talk to you about somethin'." She glanced over at Sam and Sean. "And you two need to scat."

And there it was.

Fiona looked over her shoulder at Sam, a tiny nod that indicated she'd be okay. They'd communicated like this on any number of jobs.

"So, Sean, have you taken a good look at that mess Mikey's trying to put back together in the garage?" Sam wanted to know.

"Not really. I just walked around it. What happened?" The two men left through the kitchen door.

Fi plopped down on a chair across from her mum and Madeline, and crossed her arms, then her legs. Being forewarned by Sam on what she could expect had given her the time she needed. She wasn't feeling particularly cooperative today.

Her mother spoke first. "I never planned on bein' here like this, and I sure didn' plan on seein' you livin' with someone, even though I know you an him have been together for a long time. I'm real glad I got to meet Maddie here, cause it seems we got a lot of the same ideas. We're thinkin' it's time you and Michael need to make things permanent."

"You made that pretty clear first thing this morning, Mum." Fiona held her mother's clear green gaze, and felt a hot blue fire blazing in her own. A long time ago, Fi had put the subject of one Michael McBride Westen off limits in any discussion for her mother, but apparently she'd forgotten. On purpose.

"The thing is," Maddie continued in a much softer tone than the one Ena had taken. "You two love each other. You should be married. This living together thing-"

"It's not a thing, Madeline," Fiona said. "We're both adults. We've been making our own decisions for a long time now."

"You've both been carryin' on for a long time, now, that's what ya been doin'," Ena said. "And what's it got ya, girl? Heartbreak, that's what. Ya need a more permanent solution."

"Mum, we're fine," Fiona said calmly, emphasizing each word.

"I see that look in your eye, so I'm doubtin' that. What'd he say when you-"

Fiona stood quickly and pointed a finger at her mother. "Enough, Mum. Enough!"

She turned on a sandaled heel, grabbed her tote and was out the door in seconds.

A full minute later, Madeline looked straight at Fiona's mother. "What just happened here?"

Ena Glenanne had clasped her hands together. "Mother Mary, have mercy on me. Now I'm thinkin' she never told him," she was shaking her head. "Never told him."

"Never told him what?" Maddie asked, clearly puzzled.

"About the babe she lost a long time ago. His," Ena said. Just then, Sam and Sean walked in the back door. "She nearly died. I was so angry with your boy. I'd already lost one daughter to shootin' and it looked like I was goin' ta lose my other to miscarryin'."

The most uncomfortable silence Sam had ever encountered in a group of human beings occurred right there, right in that moment.

Madeline reached for a cigarette.

Sean looked at his mother, scowled at her then turned and left the house.

Sam wanted out. Out of his skin. Out of hearing. Out of this house. He couldn't leave fast enough.

He was supposed to leave with Fiona, but she tore out of Maddie's drive like her tail was on fire. This entire situation was worse, so much worse, than when Mike's former fiancé had shown up on his doorstep asking for help, and Fi had been introduced to her unknown predecessor. Sam pulled his keys from his pocket and headed out after Fiona.

There was one thing he knew for certain. Some secrets are secret for a reason-because they are much too private, much too personal and much too painful to be spoken of. Ever.

Then he remembered something else. Years ago, after rejecting some Mikey advice on a certain romantic problem, he'd laughed at him, told him he shouldn't give advice. "You've only ever been involved with one woman, and she's crazy," he told him.

He'd never understood thier relationship other than in simple terms. This explained the glue that held them together. Every protective instinct Sam owned rose to the fore. He needed to find Fiona, and needed to know she was safe because his friend Mike needed the same thing.


	5. Chapter 5

Puzzles - Chapter Five

A casual observer would not have been aware of degree of impatience Michael was controlling while he waited for his flight to Heathrow. His departure had been delayed twice now.

When his phone vibrated from his inside jacket pocket, he reached for it and read Jesse's message.

So, Fi wasn't answering his calls. But, she was talking to Jesse. Wasn't that good news? And, she was okay. Good to know.

Just what the hell did that lovvvvves mean? He snapped the phone shut and silently grumbled to himself before replying to Jesse's message. He backtracked, deleting messages from the phone memory before snapping it shut again.

A couple of hours later, he was still waiting when he noticed a boisterous, crowd of tattooed young men wearing sunglasses, earrings, chains, black leather jackets and black leather pants move loudly toward the arrivals gate.

He had to grin. Once they left the airport, they were really going to love Miami's heat and humidity in those pants and jackets. Yeah, they were going to be cool.

Another wave of leather and chain clad people deplaned to follow the boys in the band. Not only were they traveling with girlfriends, but apparently, given the age of this new bunch, the entire crew had flown with them instead of on a separate flight. He picked up snippets of conversations. Traveling with an entire band, plus groupies and their crew. On Commercial. Bet it was treat to share that flight. Not.

As he checked the electronic info board, the quirk in his brain that allowed Michael Westen and hidden others in the world to register things few people see sent a small electric jolt to his conscious state, heightening his awareness.

He turned to study the leather-clad crowd.

There, off to the far left, was a familiar form, walking a bit faster than the rest of the crew. He flipped open his cell.

"Max, the agency just wasted money on a ticket. O'Neill's here. No. He's here. I just saw him. He's headed to an exit. He's traveling with a band as a crew member."

"Impossible," Max replied.

"Possible. I'm on him. Call you back."

The next call went to Sam. When he didn't pick up, Michael tried Fi. When she didn't answer, not that he expected her to, he called his mother's house.

"Is Sam there? Fiona?" he said when his mother answered.

"No, Sam left for the loft right after Fi left," Maddie said quietly.

"Let me talk to Sean." Michael was running now and when Sean came on the line he informed him that O'Neill was here, and where he'd seen him. "Keep trying to warn Sam or Fi, will you? And call me back."

Now that he was mostly operating on the right side of the law, the only sane way to get out of the airport was by cab. He'd lost O'Neill in the crowd, but O'Neill knew the city and if his information sources were as good as Sean suspected, he'd probably be headed to the loft. He looked to find a cabbie interested in speeding up a fare for a price.

When he arrived at the loft, first thing he saw was Fi's car with the driver's side window smashed in. Sam's car was right next to hers, and finding both of their cells phones lying crushed at the bottom of the steps, did not bode well.

He reached under Fi's car front seat and pulled out the spare .45 she kept stashed there.

"Not good," Michael muttered, taking steps up to the loft two at a time. "Not good."

He hesitated when he found the door to the loft unlocked and paused to listen. When he didn't detect sound or movement, he opened the door wider and stepped inside.

Wrong move. 

It was dark when he regained consciousness.

He slit his eyes open just enough to realize he was on the floor in the loft. His head pounded, but he laid still, listening. O'Neill was talking to someone on the phone.

"Yeah, and bring that, too. I want it to look like an accident."

Someone kicked him in the ribs. He groaned, and was rewarded with another vicious kick. "Well, lookie who's awake now. It's Mr. Magic Man himself."

Rough hands yanked him up and shoved him into a sitting position on the floor. He looked around. Fi and Sam were sitting on the edge of the bed. They were bound with duct taped ankles and hands; their mouths were duct-taped shut, too.

O'Neill had shed the leather pants and jacket. Michael could see them discarded on the metal stairs to the loft office. That's when he noticed O'Neill was wearing familiar clothing-Michael's clothing.

"So, who's comin' to save ya now, Westen?"

"Didn't have time to shop?" Michael asked.

O'Neill grabbed his tie and pulled it tight. "You owe me, Westen. Least ya could do. You know I've had a lot of time to think about what I was goin' to do to you and your friends once we renewed acquaintances. Prison will do that for a man-give you a lot of time to think. We're goin' to have some fun."

Trying to assess the situation, Michael glanced around but didn't see anyone but O'Neill. How in the hell did he manage to get the best of all three of them? By himself?

The answer had to be there were others with him. So where were they?

On the positive side of this situation, both Sean and Max knew O'Neill was here. On the negative side, there was no way he wanted Fi here. He clamped down on his panic and started formulating ways to play this.

O'Neill's phone rang again, and he stepped away to the deck.

Michael could see Fi blinking slowly, quickly. She had done this before. Morse Code by blink. He focused on her eyes. Message: Two more.

Whoever O'Neill was talking to wasn't making him happy. He stalked back through the room, grabbed Fi's neck and pushed her down on the bed. "You're still worth a lot of money, gorgeous. Know that? We're goin' home, just you and me, darlin'. Goin' to have my auction after all."

He backhanded Sam across the jaw, then walked over and kicked Michael viciously in the ribs again. Michael managed an admirable job of faking passing out.

"Don't go anywhere, now. I'll be back," he swore as he slammed out of the loft.

As soon as he was gone, Michael coughed as he struggled to sit up. "Auuhh," he groaned. "Fi, you okay?" he asked. She nodded. And blinked. And blinked some more.

Michael tried to clear his vision through the pain. "Come ... oh, got it, Fi."

One painful circuit at a time, he rolled over to them. When he got to Fiona's feet, he took a deep breath. "Which leg?" She moved one toe.

It took him a minute to sit up and remove the slim knife she had in an ankle sheath. It was hard to believe O'Neill missed it or had been foolish enough to tape his hands together in front when he'd secured Sam and Fi's behind them.

He maneuvered it up, then out, and it fell on the floor with solid clunk. It took another couple of minutes to grab it, and another before he could depress the blade open and hold it to cut the tape from his wrists. After he got his own hands and feet he rose, wobbled and slit the tape binding Fi and Sam's hands and then feet.

Which left the tape around their mouths.

Fi and Sam were struggling to remove it, because O'Neill had used the duct tape to completely encircle their heads. The super sticky tape adhered to their hair, making it painful to move or remove it.

Michael got over to his workbench and returned with scissors. It helped, but Fi's hair was too long, too tangled. He cut the binding on either side of her ears, leaving the tape in her hair. "We'll fix your hair later," Michael said as he quickly touched his lips to hers.

Sam went hardcore with the tape, cutting a slit then ripping it from his face, beard and the back of his head. "Damnnn."

"There's two of them down there?" Michael opened the loft door a crack and studied what was below, then closed and silently turned the deadbolt as a precaution. It wouldn't stop O'Neill but it'd slow him down. Sam stepped over to a window and was gauging the scene below.

"Four now," Sam said.

Michael started opening drawers to his workbench. Dammit, his phone was gone and so were his spare phones, ammunition and handguns. There were rifles upstairs Fi stashed in a moveable panel at the back of the couch, so he headed up there while Sam kept watch.

Fi had moved into the kitchen and was pulling one of the kitchen drawers completely out. In rear, she had stashed a 9mm with a full clip and a phone that powered up as if the battery had been charged yesterday because it had been. Old habits had saved them before just like now.

She opened the hot pad storage drawer next to the sink and removed a laser assist compact .38 revolver. She'd taped up under the counter. Michael joined them with a rifle for Sam and the other for Fi. She kept the revolver and handed him the 9mm and because the smaller handgun did not fit his hand.

"Michael, he put a bomb under the stairwell. I saw it. Not only will it take out the loft, but it'll . . ." Fi handed him the phone.

"Take the nightclub, too. Sam what are they doing now?" Michael looked around then up to the skylight. He'd left the building several times that way by scaling the wall and hoisting himself up and out.

Sam followed the direction of Michael's gaze and shook his head. "Not doin' it, Mikey. Not leaving Fi here, and not risking a fall."

He gave Sam a sharp glance.

"Not a secret. We're not risking her, and no arguing, Fi."

"Not arguing, Sam," Fiona agreed.

Michael opened the phone. "The roof is plan B."

Sam looked over to see who he was calling. "Oh, good. We're not going to be heroes today."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

By the time the bomb squad left and Michael and Fiona returned to the loft, they'd spent two hours a couple of blocks away waiting while Miami's finest did their jobs and removed all the lethal gifts O'Neill and his men left in and around the warehouse building.

It was a surprising number of devices. Fi, Michael, Sam and Max were each troubled by the number, quality and the length of time it'd taken O'Neill to accomplish that.

Capturing the thugs waiting for O'Neill at the bottom of the stairs to Michael's loft wasn't much of a task, it turned out. Michael and Max coordinated then choreographed their move. Once Max's team arrived silently and was in place outside the rusty security gate, Michael and Sam stepped out on the landing at the top of the stairs, guns drawn, while Max's ground team burst through the gates.

O'Neill's men were startled into submission from above and below. The only critic was Fi.

"That was Sam style, Michael. Was Max a SEAL, too?" Fi muttered after it was over and done. "Just blow in there, wham. Tactically, you should have waited for O'Neill to return so you could have taken him and whoever else he has working with him. It was a mistake, Michael."

"Probably. But circumstances have changed, Fi." He chained her gaze before she backed down. He wouldn't have done it that way, either, but he wasn't risking her or the child she carried.

"Kinda anti-climatic, wouldn't you say?" Sam said, grinning. "I say we need to do more jobs like this."

"What? Get captured and then call someone to save us?" Fi wondered.

Not a single shot had been fired. O'Neill had been captured a few blocks away as he exited a gas station bathroom, something Sam found highly amusing. "The idiot."

History had already shown them O'Neill was an idiot, a useful fool people with agendas could use for their purposes. Michael was most curious about the people with agendas. That twitch he couldn't stop, twitched. Something was just not right here.

Max reported they'd identified and linked security breaches at the Irish prison where O'Neill had been held; several in London linked to another at the Miami Port Authority. The final count was not in on how many had been detained or were incarcerated.

Fi mourned as her car was towed past them; it would be examined more extensively before being released to her. "I like that car, and I'm going to miss it. "

"Yeah, that sweet ride has cooties now," Sam commiserated. "But you'll get it get back, Fi."

While they were waiting to return to the loft, Fiona had been able to remove the rest of the heavy tape from her hair. Michael had grabbed a bottle of adhesive remover as they left the loft.

Michael had not said much as the evening progressed and they waited. There were several questions that tickled his awareness, but now that they were being allowed to return to the loft, his focus changed.

He knew he'd have a report to write about the incident with O'Neill, and he'd realized then there was still the problem with Fi's past, at least in the eyes of those who scrutinized such things for the CIA. His former IRA-operative needed to be safe and stay safer if she was going to have a baby. He clenched his jaw. If she wanted to have a baby, that was.

Michael realized this day had wings of lead. It seemed as if two centuries had passed since just this morning when he'd realized Fi was pregnant.

When they returned to the loft, Fi headed straight for the shower. He could see she was exhausted, moving in slow motion now, and irritable. She threatened bodily harm if he asked her one more time how she was feeling. He didn't really think asking three times was too much.

She was in their bed, almost asleep when Michael got out of the shower and joined her. He left the towel on the floor and slid next to her in the bed and put his arms around her, pulling her closer.

She turned at his touch and melted against him. "I love you, Michael," she said. He kissed her cheek, her mouth, her throat. "I love you, too."

Fiona was asleep almost instantly, but it had taken Michael much, much longer. That's when he wondered why it had taken them so long to say such beautifully simple words.

A conscience is a terrible thing to be plagued with, and Fi's was capable of inflicting more damage on herself than anyone could imagine. It tickled her awareness like an alarm clock.

Rain. It rained every day in Miami, she'd learned since she moved here. Some days there were storms, some days not, but every afternoon, it rained. It soothed, calmed and cleansed. She especially liked it when a storm front arrived in the early morning hours, hid the sun and greyed the atmosphere as it had this morning.

She awoke because she was uncomfortably warm, and the why of that became obvious when she realized Michael was spooned against her back, one strong arm wrapped around her, his hand splayed across her abdomen. She could feel his soft breath against the nape of her neck. Part of her wanted to stretch, but the heart of her heart wasn't ready to jeopardize such a luxurious sensation by moving.

Simply sleeping with him, bare skin to bare skin had convinced her long ago there must be a heaven with this tiny foretelling glimpse of earthbound peace.

When the soft breath against her neck turned into tiny kisses, she pulled away before Michael's overture became a full-blown symphony. That only gave him the opening he needed to turn and lower his mouth to hers. And then she was lost. Again. They slipped together as naturally as long time lovers do, and when they were complete, she realized there were tears streaming down her face.

And he could see them.

The pain of possessing the new life-giving force inside her battled with hurtful secrets and had ruptured. Michael moved, freeing her movements, and when she started to pull away as if to leave their bed, he kept her there with simple words. "Please. Don't go."

She eased back down and he held her to him as he had all night. Because she did not have the courage to turn and face him she focused on the texture of the sheet on the bed. Fibers woven together in a pattern that made sense instead of what she had done with her life.

Her voice was soft, barely louder than the rain. "Do you remember our first night?"

"I remember."

"You asked if I was safe."

He paused before answering. "You said you were taking something."

She could hear the rain drumming against the windows as her memory took her back to that night she kept precious in her memory. "I lied. I didn't want to . . . wait to love you, so I lied. And then you were gone. I couldn't find you anywhere."

"I said I was sorry, Fi."

"I know. But when you left, you left me with part of you . . . and then I lost it."

When Michael didn't respond, Fi continued quickly because she needed to release the wretched thing that had chained her psyche for so long.

"I don't know what happened. I don't think I did anything, but I must've. It was just a couple of months after you left. I went to my mum's for something and the next thing I knew I was on my knees. I lost your babe, Michael. And I didn't want to, oh, how I did not want to."

All these years later, the pain remained as excruciating as if it had just happened. She took a steadying breath. "My mum figured out it was yours. She had seen us together when you got hurt that time and we went to her house and guessed we were involved. She was so angry with me, at you, everyone. Claire was gone, then you left, and then I lost our babe. I think . . . for a while . . . I didn't know how to breathe.

"But then I got angry. I didn't care about anythin'. I couldn't. Anythin' they wanted me to do, I did. I had to. They kept calling me the crazy bomber and I was because I was hopin' to die. Then you came back and . . .

"We kept meetin' and I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't. When we were together after that, I tried protectin' myself because I couldn't do that again. You always disappeared so fast, like you'd never been there. When I moved to New York and I thought, finally, that's done. That part of my life is over. No more Michael Westen. Book closed. I'll just live my life like I want and, then that hotel maid called me. So I came to see you again. It wasn't that long before it happened . . . again."

Fi heard herself slipping into her Irish speech patterns, and couldn't help herself. But there was still another sin to confess.

"That was the first night we made love here. In this bed. I was bein' reckless again, and you were right. Violence used to . . . "

She cleared her throat. "But not after that. Then Bly came by the next day with his file and all you could think about was the lies they were tellin' about you. And you know how that works when you start hidin' the truth? If you do it long enough, it's not like it's the lie it is.

"When I had that miscarriage, I wanted to tell you, but Carla was here. So I was angry, maybe at you but mostly about losin' a babe again. I started tormentin' you with Campbell. I know you thought . . . we slept in the same bed once but we didn't. I couldn't. I know I shouldn'ta done that, but he was smart enough to see where my heart was. I told him I was sorry, but I didn't want to tell you . . . then."

Lifting the weight of horrible secrets comes with a price. Fi could only hope revealing the wrong would not mean losing what had always felt right-being with Michael.

"What I'm tryin' to say is I am sorry about losin' your babes. I was wrong not tellin' you. I'm hoping you can forgive me because I want these babes now to have you. "

Fiona wiped the tears that had been coursing down her face with her hands, and turned to look at Michael who had remained perfectly still and silent behind her while she was unburdening her heart.

When she looked at him, her tears freely flowed again.

His eyes were as wet as hers, and as she met gaze, he pulled her into a savage embrace and began caressing her face, every inch, her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her chin with his lips, his mouth, his kisses.

"No, no, no, no, no. I'm so, so sorry." His voice cracked with the burden of the pain she had transferred to him. "I'm the one who needs forgiveness."

They stayed like that, silently ministering to each other's tears, tenderly touching each other, forgiving each other, releasing the pain of the past, quelling the storms within and without.

The gentle peace that followed was silent until Michael turned to Fiona and tilted her chin so he could look into her eyes.

"Fiona, are we having twins?"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Displays of emotion. Long-held secrets. Brand new ones. It was enough to make a grown man shudder. And it did. Nothing quite like having your guts ripped out and shoved back in place without benefit of anesthesia.

Yeah, that was it like. Exactly.

It wasn't something he did often, but Michael admitted he was unhinged, unbalanced and naked, even if he had a pair of jeans on.

He needed to go for a run. He needed physical activity to cleanse. But he wouldn't leave Fi. He knew she needed the same thing, only she wasn't supposed to run now. Walking only. Yoga. And he was not doing that.

It was still early morning. The sun started peeking over the edge of the deck. The rain had stopped, and the planter of bougainvillea she had set in a corner of the deck emitted a neon pink glow that almost hurt to look at it, it was so bright.

On the upside, Fiona was in the same edgy, unbalanced state as he was. There were some things they did very, very well. There were others, they didn't. Like this.

He reached for a yogurt and handed one to her. He was barefooted and shirtless. Fi had pulled on a short floaty thing that was held up by elastic under her arms.

She smoothed her hand over his back and ribs, gently touching the red and purpling bruises O'Neill had inflicted. His eyes met hers. "I'm okay."

"Maybe."

He reached for a spoonful of her peach yogurt while she reached for his blueberry.

They hadn't really talked much since they had both exhaled after too many tears. He had washed his face and shaved. She had taken a shower. That had helped with the outside.

Now, he needed to keep things calm on the inside. To feel normal. But normal had just been redefined and permanently altered. The same out of control feeling he'd had when he was burned resurfaced. Experience taught him how to deal with that. One thing at a time.

He hoped the technique worked as well with this.

Just as he grappled with making sense of what had happened after he was burned, he was struggling with how to put everything Fi had told him together in a way that made sense.

Miscarriages-two of them-wounding things Fi had lived with for a long time were new and deeply troubling thoughts for him, especially when he could see his actions were the reason why she couldn't bring herself tell him before this.

Yeah, this.

He was going to be a father. So why did he fear that idea as much as he loved it? Twins. He was speechless when he looked at the sonogram, the image of his children growing, being nourished in Fi's womb. A possessiveness different but so much like the possessiveness he had for Fiona surged.

If he was struggling to think about having two children at once, then what was she thinking? Two children. That was so far beyond good there wasn't a word for it. But two children at once? The idea flattened him. It invited failure, and that would be one thing he would never want-to fail his family.

His family. Fi, himself, their children.

Random thoughts flew this way and that way, battering him from the inside out. Having children and a wife made operatives, especially toasted ones, vulnerable. The minute Fi started looking pregnant, life would become more dangerous for her. So how was he going to protect her?

He glanced over at her. "Sam knows you're pregnant."

"He said I had the look. "

"You do?"

"Apparently. But he doesn't know about the twins," she said quietly. "Jesse does."

"Jesse?" The spoonful of yogurt on the way to his mouth paused midair. "You told Jesse?"

"Not on purpose, Michael!"

He laughed. "Really." So that was what the lovvvves was about.

Fi waved her spoon at him. "Really. I went to the doctor expecting one thing and then bam, twins, Michael. Twins. Eighteen, nineteen weeks, not eight. And then he called you my significant other and said I was old. I mean old to be a first time mother. I think I was in shock. So I went to Amelia's and was reading the information from the doctor. Jesse had been there on a lunch date. I didn't see him until he stopped by my table. And then he spotted the brochure on twins."

Michael's spoon finished the journey to his mouth. Teasing Fi felt normal. "So Jesse knew about the twins before I did. Huh."

Fi skipped right past light moment and went straight to serious.

"Is that important to you? I mean I knew first, then somehow you figured it out yesterday morning, well, not about the twins, and then a whole bunch of people at the doctor's office knew. And then," Fi paused, the timbre of her voice changed and Michael could hear her distress. "I was trying to figure out what to tell you about . . . what had happened before. Jesse said if I trusted you with my life, why wouldn't I trust you . . .with this." She stopped, looked up at him and blinked. "I am sorry, Michael."

He put the cup on the counter and framed her face between his hands. "Please do not ever again apologize for any of that. Please, Fi."

She nodded. "We're kind of a mess this morning."

"Yeah. We are."

"Do you-" Fi started to ask a question when Michael stopped her with a quick kiss.

"Fi, I want to. Do you? There are a lot of things I don't understand, a lot of questions I don't have answers to. The only thing I know is what we should do before anything else."

"I think so, too."

"No rings."

"I want them for the ceremony."

He nodded his agreement. "Just us?"

"We need witnesses."

"That could get tricky." Michael sighed.

"We don't have to tell our mums."

"Really, Fi? Do you really want your mother to hate me for the rest of our lives?"

She sighed. "No, I guess not." 

When Max called with the news that O'Neill was on his way back to prison by the end of the week, he also requested Michael's presence at a debriefing later that day.

Fi knew told him she had things to take care of, including renting a car and going to Madeline's to see her mother. "I need to find out how she and Sean are getting back."

"Why don't you call Sam? You don't have to rent a car, and I'd-"

"Like to wrap me in cotton wool that looks like Sam. I'll be okay, Michael. Bad guys are gone."

"We don't know that for sure."

"Go see Max. I'll be fine, Michael."

He frowned.

"Come by your mom's when you're done."

"Going to Little Havana first."

Fi let out a woosh of air. "We're really doing this."

"We are." 

Fiona was surprised to discover Madeline alone in her house when she got there in the early afternoon. Michael's mother had a suspiciously sweet and gentle smile for her.

"Well, hello, sweetheart. If you're looking for your family, Sam took your mom and Sean out on a boat. He thought they'd enjoy the trip while they were here. They should be back soon."

Fiona took another look at Madeline. She'd been crying. Her mascara was smudging. "Are you okay?"

"No, Fiona, I am not."

Madeline related what had transpired in her home after Fiona had left so quickly last night, and the distressing news her mother had revealed.

"I'm sorry you found out about it like that," Fiona said. She was looking out the door, purposefully not looking at Michael's mother. "But Mum was wrong. He knows."

It wasn't a lie; it just wasn't completely honest, but Fi had too much honesty in the past 24 hours. She had firebombed her own comfort zone and Michael's, too.

When she glanced over to Madeline there was something akin relief on her face.

"We're good, Madeline. I love your son. You know that."

The cloud in Madeline's face disappeared. "I've known that for a long time. I've just never heard you say it . . . so clearly."

"Well, we're practicing. One day at a time, that sort of thing. I'm not really sure spies can be domesticated."

"I hadn't thought about it that way. There's something else," Maddie said.

"Mum." Fiona sighed.

"I have to say, I'm almost relieved she's not here today."

What could she say to that? That she was relieved, too?

"Mum can be difficult. I've been told I'm a lot like her," Fi said. "Might not be a good thing. I think losing someone the way she lost my sister changed her. I know you've thought about losing Michael or Nate."

Madeline lit a cigarette. "I think I lost both of them for a while. But they're back now. I know I have you to thank you for Michael being here." She touched Fiona's hand briefly. "I have many things to thank you for."

Fi ignored the direction that might take them. "No, not me. I think Michael's return to Miami started with a bunch of spy burners," she said. "I just wanted him to stay in one place for a while, use the same name and have the same address for a year or so."

"That's interesting," Madeline observed. Whatever else she was about to say was lost when Nate arrived with the newest Westen. The baby was fussing, and Nate was juggling diaper bag, infant and child carrier. As usual, his wife Ruth did not accompany him. Maddie stubbed out her cigarette immediately, removed the ash tray from the table and went to wash her hands.

"Let me see that sweet thing," she said, taking her grandson from his carrier.

Nate greeted Fiona with a simple hug. "Hey, good to see you, Fi. Where's Uncle Mike?"

"Work. He'll be here when he's done."

Fiona was watching Maddie cuddle and talk to her grandson. It struck her that an in a few months, she would have two such infants.

When Madeline's phone rang, Nate answered then held it out to his mother. "Mom, it's your neighbor, Laura. She says it's important."

Maddie handed Nate's son back to him and went to take the phone call. Nate looked at Fiona.

"Hey, Charlie, meet your Aunt Fi." He smiled and asked Fiona, "want to hold him?"

Fiona couldn't take her gaze away from Nate's tiny son. "Oh, I don't know, Nate. I've never held a baby."

"It doesn't hurt," Nate said, matter-of-factly. "Easy. Just support his neck and head with your arm."

He transferred his son to Fiona. "See, you're natural. Look at that."

"He's so . . . small," Fiona said in a hushed tone, taking the scent of baby powder, new skin, his big dark eyes and a sweetly bowed mouth.

"Not really," Nate said, looking down at his son. "He's almost nineteen pounds at three months. He's a big boy. Might be a football player."

When the baby started fussing, Nate reached into the diaper bag and grabbed a soft white pad and put it on Fi's shoulder. "He just ate before we came over. Probably needs to burp. Here, do this," he instructed as he helped Fi maneuver his son to her shoulder.

And that is exactly how Michael found Fiona when he walked into his mother's kitchen. Holding a baby in her arms. He stopped and stared.

When Fiona saw him she smiled and stated the obvious. "I'm holding your nephew, Michael. Want to?"

"Uh, uh, not now. We got a meeting, Fi."

"Now?"

"Yeah. In Little Havana. We gotta go."

"Oh, all right," she said as she reluctantly handed Nate's child back to him.

Madeline had been watching the entire scene from the corner of the living room. She was listening to her neighbor Laura talk about a break-in at her house, but the most interesting thing was happening right in front of her eyes. She'd seen a reluctant Fiona gently cradle Nate's child and Michael's dead stop reaction when he saw her, and then the look that crossed his face when he met her gaze.

She smiled. She'd wager everything she owned that Michael and Fiona would be providing her with another grandchild before the year ended.

Life was good.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Father Hector Famosa Garcia generally considered Tuesday night his reading and study night, but not tonight. He'd agreed to meet with a couple who wanted to be married in the church.

One of his parishioners had called him and told him how these two and their friends helped him and his neighborhood get rid of a drug gang, and how surprised he was to receive their call. He was eager to do anything he could, because among other reasons, they refused payment for the help they provided. Introducing them to his pastor seemed like such a small request.

After they exchanged greetings, he invited them into his small office, neatly cluttered with piles of books and papers. "Please," he said. "Call me Father Hector."

Theirs was a typical problem: they were expecting a child, twins actually, and unmarried. Their ages made the situation something of a surprise, though. After establishing the basic facts of their lives, he learned neither had been to reconciliation or communion in years. That could be addressed. But the thing that really captured his attention was the moment he realized both of them had come into his parish office discreetly armed.

Before entering the seminary, he had served in the military, so he recognized the type of people he was dealing with. He expected their answers to his questions to be hesitant and they were. They did not give him more information than he asked for. Where another couple might tell a story relating to their courtship, their answers were brief and extremely cautious.

He asked as many questions as he needed to discover these two soldiers who looked like civilians were extremely protective of every element of their lives.

Their conversation hadn't progressed far when he attempted to allay their fears and distrust. "I can see and hear your discomfort, which is why I want you to know our conversations are private and will not repeated nor used against you for any purpose. You may consider our conversations this evening to have the same seal as the confessional."

They shared a glance and finally Michael clarified. "I was a spy for our government, working overseas until almost five years ago. My employment status with the government is unsettled at the present time." Fiona followed. "And I worked as an IRA-operative until seven years ago when I moved here. If you need a passport, Father, I don't have a legitimate one to give you."

He asked them how long they had known each other. The answer, given simultaneously, was fourteen years. He requested time to speak with each individually, and encouraged the other to go into the church for prayer and reflection during that time.

By the end of the long evening, he was satisfied there would be no impediments to their marriage. These two, at some point in their long relationship, had married each other without benefit of a formal rite, and could have continued that way. But he also believed they were deeply sincere in their desire to be married in the church for their sake and the sake of their family. They were looking for ways to move from the lives they led to the new one they wanted.

Both were firm, for tragically different reasons, in wanting to provide as normal a childhood as they could for their children. He agreed to marry them as soon as Fiona could find a way to locate her church records.

Michael's records were easily obtained, but Fiona's were in Ireland. They had cautioned him about making a query for her; there was an issue of personal safety. He told them he understood.

When Michael and Fiona got into Fi's rental car after their long evening with Father Hector, they traveled several moments in silence before Fiona said, "I need to talk to my brother Sean. Can we stop by your mom's house before we go home?"

From the stillness and dimmed lights of St. Ambrose Church to the bright lights and boisterous laughter emanating from Madeline's house, Michael and Fiona left a sacred universe and reentered the secular. They were not certain they wanted to do that yet.

"Maybe we should come back tomorrow," Michael suggested. Fiona was about to agree when her brother tapped on her window with the neck of his beer bottle.

"Comin' to join the party?" Sean wondered.

"Actually, I was hoping to speak with you," Fi said.

Sean opened the car door and held it wide. "Michael, you better get in there and defend yourself. Sam and Jesse are tellin' stories on you."

Michael groaned. "Great."

He handed Fi the keys to her rental and headed for the back door of his mother's house, but not before Sean stopped him.

"Gettin' to be a habit, Michael, tellin' you thanks for savin' my sister, but thanks. I mean that. Sam filled us in with what happened to that bastard O'Neill. Maybe they can keep him in prison this time."

"No need to thank me, Sean."

As Michael left, Fiona turned to her older brother. "If I need some of my old records from home, what would be the easiest way to get them?"

"Depends on what you want."

"Some church records."

Sean grinned. "Wouldja' now? What kind of church records?"

"The usual. Baptism, first communion."

Sean leaned down until he was nose to nose with his sister. "Getting married, are ya?"

She pushed him away. "No." He leaned down and looked at her again then blocked her way when she tried to move away, much like he'd done when they were younger.

"I'm not above hurting you," Fi warned.

"Ya' never were. Go ahead then," Sean offered.

Fiona grimaced. "Yes. I am."

"Now, tell me when the babe's comin'."

"Who said anything about‒"

"Ya' been in love with 'im as long as I can remember. Ya' didn't think anyone noticed? Ya' live with him, Fi. It's not really unexpected." Sean grinned.

"Late November, maybe December," she said softly.

"Can't tell by lookin' at ya'."

"That's supposed to change soon. About the records?"

"What'll ya' give me if I can produce 'em tonight?" Sean asked cheerfully.

"I'm not in the mood for your teasing."

"Remember when we told ya Mum's place got firebombed? After Da' passed, she started keepin' all the family records in her Bible. First thing she grabbed on her way out the house. She made me put it with my stuff. It's in ma bag," he nodded, "in Maddie's garage."

Michael came out the back door of his mother's house the same time Fi and Sean emerged from the garage. Fi held up two faded ivory envelopes for Michael. "Guess what Mum brought from home?"

Sean stepped forward, hand extended. "Don't know when it'll be official, but welcome to the family, Michael. Couldn't wish for a better man for my sister. Be nice if you could do this before Mum and I have to head home."

"We'll try," Michael said, shaking Sean's hand. 

When Michael returned from his meeting with Max the next morning, Fi was right where he left her‒in bed, asleep. They had been introspective after returning to the loft last night, each focusing on their meeting with the priest.

Fi admitted to being extremely tired. Unlike the previous evening, she didn't seem to mind if he'd asked how she was feeling more than once.

He sat on the side of the bed and brushed the hair away from her face. "Sleeping in, huh?"

Fi yawned. "I didn't plan on it."

"Are you feel‒"

Fi paused his question by putting her fingers on his lips. "I'm fine. Michael. Sleeping is normal."

He smiled and kissed her fingers, then her cheek, then her lips, then her neck, then a bit lower. "Michael?"

"Sorry. I know. Restraint."

Last night Father Hector had asked that before their marriage they exercise intimate restraint, especially Michael. Fi had found that highly amusing, but not in front of the priest. "He should have been advising me, not you."

"We need to get over to Mom's, Fi."

"And your mom and I are going shopping, while you're on your date. You're brave man, my husband to be. Just charm her. You know you can. And I'll patch you up later."

"Not funny, Fi." 

Last night, they knew they needed to bring their families into their confidence about what was happening in their lives. Now that Sean and Sam had guessed and Jesse had been informed, Ena, Madeline and Nate needed to know, too.

There were inherent dangers in this, Michael pointed out.

No matter how often Max told him he sounded like a paranoid nut, he refused to accept the assessment. He was not crazy or paranoid; he no longer doubted his instincts. He might not be sure of anything else, but that much he knew. O'Neill's visit cemented it.

Even Fiona had stopped looking at him like he was unbalanced when he pointed out that if the past was past, then her mother and brother wouldn't be here, and the cell phones that O'Neill damaged or had stolen-his, Fi's and Sam's-should have been recovered and sitting in an evidence locker somewhere which they were not. He checked.

He backtracked on his phone call history, consistently deleted information, didn't use speed dial, and took as many security precautions as he could, but Sam may not have. Fi did, but she admitted she hadn't been taking as many precautions lately as she had before. Her, Sam and Michael's phones in any decent security expert's hands would have them and everyone they knew or had spoken with, linked within seconds.

Fiona groaned with a memory. "I saved a text," she said.

"Was it important?" Michael asked.

"You said 'love you' so I saved it."

Michael frowned.

"Well, it was the first time you ever, and I was a little . . . " her voice trailed off.

"We can't save things like that, Fi."

"I know better."

"Mitigating circumstances." 

Michael no longer just had a vague sense they were being watched; he was on high alert and trying to mask it while the personal side of their lives took center stage. As an insurance policy, he'd relayed his conclusions to Jesse and Sam.

"Hot out there," Fiona said, as she walked through Maddie's back door. "Cool in here, though."

"Just made some fresh iced tea. Want some?" Maddie offered.

"Hi, Mom." Michael kissed his mother's cheek, while Ena Glenanne watched.

Fi took the chair next to her mother and smiled. "I hear you and Sean get to fly home, thanks to Michael's friend Max. You'll be more comfortable. Safer."

"Not for a few days yet, Fiona. Do ya think ya could spend some time over here before we go back?"

"I was here yesterday, Mum, but you weren't," she reminded her mother.

After initially saying no, Max had relented to finding a way to get the Glenannes back to Ireland without dealing with international smugglers.

Max's change of heart came when Michael asked if it could be a wedding gift. Oddly, Max wasn't as shocked as Michael thought he might be. "Seriously?" he'd asked.

"Seriously," Michael replied, which earned him a short lecture on proper security for a spouse, especially a spouse who had such an intimate relationship with guns, and especially if you were a member of the intelligence community.

"I know that, Max. What I don't know is if I'm member of the intelligence community," Michael pressed.

"Pretty close," was Max's response which was not the clear, affirmative answer Michael had wanted.

Fiona got up, reached for her bag and kissed her mum on her cheek, before she turned and pulled Michael's head down to kiss his cheek, too. "We're off. Come on, Madeline. We have things to do."

"Mysterious things," Maddie said as she followed Fiona out the door.

Which left Michael with Fiona's mother. "Ena, I have a stop to make before we can go to lunch. I'm hoping you'll want to ride along with me."

"Suspicious, the way the two a ya are actin'. What's up Mc-" Remembering her manners, Ena paused. "Yes, I'll be happy ta ride along."

Being lectured by children she had given birth to was not high on Ena Glenanne's favorite activities, but both Sean and Fiona had lectured her on the proper care and treatment of Michael McBride Westen.

Every time she'd called him McBride, she could see both him and Fiona close forces, so her children had made a point. But it was still difficult to control her resentment. Claire hadn't been gone but a few months when Fiona started spending every waking hour with him. And resting, hour, too, it turned out.

Ena had carried a slide show of images in her heart for many years, ones that began with Claire's funeral, that bloody night when Fiona brought Michael to the house pleading to help her hide them, the wound he had and then the vicious pleasure she'd taken in cleaning and stitching him up. Then later, there was that awful night when she nearly lost Fiona, too. When the bastard returned a year later, she could not accept that Fiona had taken up with him again, defending him. To Ena, her daughter had wasted her life on him.

This trip to America had been enlightening, as had meeting his mother. There was a wee bit of comfort in knowing Madeline worried about her son the same way she worried about Fiona. "We don't choose who we love," she'd said, and although Ena knew she was referring to Michael's father, it was something she hadn't thought about in regard to Fiona.

When she sat down in the passenger seat of the car, she noticed two of the precious envelopes that had been in her Bible were on the console. She opened them, confirming what she knew them to be.

"Why do you have these?" she demanded, loudly, abruptly.

"I'm delivering them for Fiona. After that, we can go to lunch and talk."

"Sean did this, didn't he?"

He turned and looked at her. She couldn't mask her hostility. "Fiona and I need those before the priest will marry us. We're hoping you would like to be there. For our wedding."

When Ena didn't respond to that, he added, "This week."

"You're marryin' her? Why the rush, after all this time? She must be-"

"That would be correct," Michael said quietly, matching her steady gaze. "Sometime by the end of November, we are going to have twins."

Ena stared at him for a moment, trying to determine if he was telling her the truth. A moment later she laughed. Loudly, and at length. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Oh, there is a Just God," she said, laughing even louder.

He seemed confused by her reaction.

"Listen, boyo, I hope you're not plannin' on takin' me to a tea room. We're going to need something stronger than iced tea with lunch." 

Not that far away, Maddie stopped Fiona before they entered another store. Six stores in 45 minutes? The girl could shop.

"Fiona, stop," she instructed. "Let's go over there. I'm hot and thirsty and I want you to tell me what's going on."

Maddie had spotted an open air cafe and headed to an empty table. When Fiona joined her, she got straight to the point. "What are you in such a hurry for?"

"I shop this way, Maddie, and so do you. I thought you could‒"

"What's going on, Fiona?"

Fiona removed her sunglasses. "I was going to tell you over lunch, but I need a dress, something nice, simple. Because I'm marrying your son tomorrow night."

Madeline laughed out loud. "And when is the baby coming?"

"Why does everyone assume that?" Fiona snapped.

Maddie smiled sweetly and waited.

"Late November, early December. Twins."

Madeline's mile-wide smile dropped instantly. "Oh, no."

"Oh, no?"

"I'm really going to have to stop smoking now. Dammit." 

When Michael and Fiona returned to the loft later that day, they stopped and stared once they had unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Spread across the floor were photos. Eight by ten color prints of Fiona and Sean talking last night. Jesse opening a car door for Fiona. Michael and Max walking out of a government building together. Nate carrying Charlie in an infant seat. Michael and Fiona walking into St. Ambrose last night. Ena Glenanne laughing at Michael in Fi's rental car. Maddie and Fiona sitting at a sidewalk cafe. Sam and Sean at Carlitos. Image after image after image.

"I've seen this before," Michael said. "Bly . . . "

"Didn't do this," Fiona interjected. "Unless you've done something to him I don't know about. He left as a friend, didn't he?"

Michael still had the luxury of choosing which set of rules he played by. His or Max's. He mentally flipped a coin then called Max.

"That's a problem," Max agreed. "First, figure out how you'll be taking care of Fiona, your family and friends, and then you can help me."

"Help you?"

"I think this is about me."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The wedding mass began at 3 p.m. There was no need for overhead lighting because sunlight streamed through the stained glass images of saints that surrounded them, softening and muting every harsh color.

The church was empty except for the small wedding party, but it would have been hard to recognize as such. Nothing was scheduled until mass at 6:30 the next morning. Fi wore a slim, pale ivory dress and carried five short-stemmed red roses. Three were for the departed family members who couldn't be with them‒ her father, her sister Claire and Michael's father.

They were getting ready to leave the loft for the church when she told him what she was doing and why. He shook his head no, no, but she stilled that negative reaction with a soft hand to his cheek. "Michael, you are not like him, but without him, I wouldn't have you."

The last two roses were for children, those they lost and those they waited for.

Fi was not escorted to the altar. She and Michael sat together in the first pew and when the mass began, they rose and walked together to kneel in front of the priest at the altar.

There was no music. The silence, except for the words spoken by the priest, Michael and Fiona, enhanced the reverence and timeless simplicity of the wedding mass.

Madeline and Ena shed silent tears. Nate and Ruth held hands and between them, Charlie slept peacefully in his carrier. Sean, Jesse and Sam each found discreet ways to mask the emotion that had overcome them. Max had entered the church after the mass begun, and was sitting several rows behind the small group of family and friends.

A quiet reception at Maddie's house followed, and Father Hector was happy to join them. Michael and Fiona were startled when he and Sam greeted one another warmly as old friends do.

The priest laughed. "I didn't know you were in Miami, Sam. Although it does not surprise me to find you here with Michael and Fiona. I'm sorry we lost track after Desert Storm."

"Hey, Mikey, bet you didn't know you were getting married by a former SEAL, huh?" Sam offered with a wink and a laugh. "We're everywhere."

Maddie made the wedding cake, a simple two layer affair, straight from box mixes. "I would have made one from scratch, but that's not always my best thing." Michael had already cautioned that ordering one could be a security risk. Instead of arguing, she listened to his explanation on why she needed be alert.

As for wedding gifts, it was a toss up between Jesse and Max as to whose was best.

Jesse pointed out the nifty locator inside their simple silver wedding bands which he had intercepted from Michael earlier in the day. Etched inside each band were the words Mo Chroí in Gaelic. The accent mark on the i was a micro-locator that could be tracked, a signal source he hoped they would never need to use.

Max handed Fiona an fat envelope. Inside, every document she would need to have a legitimate passport as a resident alien. She might still have enemies, but none who could arrest or deport her.

Ena Glenanne had made her peace with Michael, but he wasn't comfortable enough with the truce to think it was a permanent condition. He was thankful to Sam for smoothing the bumpy waters with her the day before by talking about some of the things they and done together, including when they rescued Fiona from O'Neill three years ago.

One thing he had learned already was that she took as much pleasure in poking fun at him as Fiona did, and was just as ruthless.

Fiona. Wife. Mother of my children. He watched her talking with his mother and Nate and Ruth and felt a surge of urgency to protect her.

When Fiona's mother approached him with a small envelope, he smiled.

"A little something for you on this day."

Michael took it, thanked her and she waited. "Well, open it."

Inside the envelope was small medal. Michael removed it, looked at it and smiled. "St. Joshua."

"You know him, then?"

"Patron saint of spies, yes. Moses sent him with others to explore Canaan. But he's not a saint. There's no sainthood for those in espionage. Thank you, Ena."

"I thought you could relate, what with not really being official yourself," she explained. "I've had it long time. It was Fiona's father's."

"Then I'll keep this safe, too. Thank you." He leaned down and kissed her cheek. She patted his hand, awkwardly.

"And you take care of all my girls."

"They might be boys," Michael offered.

"You'd be wrong then, McBride," Ena laughed. 

Fiona stood across the room and watched her mother give the gift to Michael. She knew what it was. Her mother had given that medal to her father when he'd given up his spy activities for the IRA, so whether Michael knew it or not there was more than one message in that gift.

When he leaned down to kiss her mother's cheek, she realized her mother had put the past to rest. She had started teasing Michael the way she teased her sons.

Max interrupted her then, toasting her with a glass of champagne. "To Mrs. Westen," he said. "I understand there's going to be a Westen family expansion. Congratulations for that, too."

Fiona tilted her head and deciphered his message. "I'm not going to do anything so foolish as to endanger our children or Michael. I won't like sitting on the sidelines, though. I've never been very good at that."

"Practice makes perfect." Max smiled then grimaced at the taste of the champagne. "What is this stuff?"

"It's been sitting in the bottom of Madeline's fridge ever since I've been in Miami. Michael warned her to not do anything to draw attention to this day, so you're getting well-aged champagne instead of something new."

"Time did not improve this stuff. And it's too late. You know that."

"I know."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten 

A few solemn words, the exchange of rings, signatures and a lifelong promise sealed with a kiss. Marriage.

Michael was involved with some serious self-examination during the predawn hours of the morning after he and Fiona made promises to each other. He turned on his side to watch her sleep. Wasn't it just a morning or two ago when he last watched this woman who made his world make sense sleep?

What was happening? Had he been struck by lightning? Or was this what happy felt like for more than a few minutes? He recognized that he'd encountered this kind joy for the first time only a few days ago when he realized Fiona was carrying his child. Correction. Children. Could marriage turn this fleeting emotion into something solid? Had he ever witnessed a happy marriage? Was it attainable?

Optimism was not his strong suit.

He knew and understood discipline and its corollary patience, when necessary, both which were so often critical to success. He understood love of country. Duty. Loyalty. He could analyze situations quickly, efficiently. He had many, many practical and physical skills.

None of that meant he had a clue as to how to make anything work from this point forward.

Before yesterday, he wanted all the answers to why he'd been burned. So he could go back. Now he realized he didn't want to go back. He did not want his old life back. Because that would mean separating himself from a new life he wanted, being apart from Fiona. He knew some of the answers to why he'd been singled out to be burned. Now, he wanted the rest so he would know how to protect his small, lion-hearted woman.

How could he want so much more than he could have dreamed just a few days ago? It was a mystery that offered tantalizing, mesmerizing glimpses of what would come-seeing his children born, seeing Fi hold them. Or nurse a child at her breast, an imagined image so beautiful uninvited tears filled his eyes.

A week ago, just seven daylong eons ago, he could not have been able to envision any of this, and now he wanted to live it. He did not want to miss a single moment. If he had learned anything from his father it was everything a father should never do. Silently, he had also made that promise to Fiona yesterday: he would never behave as his father had.

They had returned to the loft around eight last night, and had changed out of their wedding clothing. Fi had put her roses in a vase of water and set them on the kitchen workbench while he had barred the door from inside, so there would be no entry without their knowledge. The bed was too inviting to ignore, so they sat there facing one another, talking softly, teasing, wondering what their children would look like, who they would favor.

Fiona asked a question that had been on the edge of his awareness. "We did this so quickly, Michael. If I was not pregnant, would we be married?"

He found it nearly unbearable to be honest. "I only know we'd still be together, that I would always want to be with you."

She looked down at her hands and spun her wedding band in a circle.

"And you, Fi, would you have wanted to be married to me? If not for this?" he asked, touching her softly on the small, tender swell on her belly.

She did not hurry her answer. "I would want to be with you, but marriage always seemed something too difficult to do, the promises too binding."

"It looks different now," he observed.

"The only thing that changed was we are to become parents."

"Doesn't it seem like it's much more?"

"And what if I lost these two?" she pressed.

"I'm not going to un-marry you. I couldn't do it, Fi."

"But what if I lost these two and couldn't ever have children?"

"I am still not going to un-marry you."

A faint smile crossed Fiona's lips. He leaned over and touched his lips to hers. "The other day you wanted to know if I remembered our first night. Since then, that night, it has only ever been you, don't you know that? Does that sound like marriage without a priest and promises?"

He could see she was struggling with what he revealed. "It's true," Michael said.

Fiona looked into his eyes, seeking the truth.

Michael took her hands in his, much as he had done earlier in front of the priest. "Do you remember when Father Hector said marriage is the only sacrament where he serves as the witness and you and I are the priests? We married each other today in front of a priest, but isn't that what we did all those years ago in Ireland?"

Fi smiled. "So you and I have been married to each other, but the only two people who knew it were you and me, and we weren't even honest with each other about that." She put her arms around him and pulled him over until their bodies were fully stretched out together, facing one another. "Faulty analysis, Michael."

"I don't think so." He was serious, so he did not return her smile.

Fiona shivered with Michael's disclosure. She had the exact same sense, that they had promised each other something enduring, true and good on that night so long ago. She gave him the words they needed in a hushed whisper. "That is what we did."

Fiona wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him to her. Her kiss quickened into a cascade of passion. It took the form in an exquisite harmonic motion, expanding as it turned heartbeats synchronous, a moment in time to complete spoken promises, sealing them with an unbreakable bond. Not long after, they fell asleep, at peace in each other's arms.

#

#

#

As soon as it was light outside, Max called. He arrived bearing gifts-coffee and small, sweet Cuban pastries. Seemed like the least he could do since he was interrupting the first day of married life for these two.

Fi and Michael gratefully accepted the coffee but left the sweets for Max because the fridge had a fresh supply of yogurt. They offered him one, but he turned up his nose.

"My wife eats that nasty stuff," he said.

"Smart woman." Michael and Fi both replied.

"Usually only people married for years do that," he said, shaking his head. "Let's get to this so I can get out of your hair and you can have your honeymoon in this scenic . . . loft . . . warehouse . . . place."

"We already had one," Fiona replied with a simple smile. "In Italy."

Max knew there was more to the story, but was also aware Michael purposefully ignored her comment by reaching for a box under the counter.

A faint smile touched his lips, his ears seemed a bit red, and he refused to look at Fiona before he adeptly changed the subject to the business at hand. He pulled a fat file from the box and laid it on the counter. The discredited burn file that had remained credible too long. Several other folders followed.

He flipped through files of newspaper clippings, faxes, printed pages of what looked like an import export business.

"Sam is checking with his cop buddies today to see what he can find out about the missing cell phones. This manifested with O'Neill but it didn't start there," Michael said. "He's a thug, a bully. Like the last time he was here, someone supplied him with a lot of expensive tools. The explosives he planted here could have wiped out this chunk of Miami if he'd had a chance. You say you've arrested everyone who could be arrested, but what I want to know, is why you think this is about you."

Max reached for the pile of photos that Fi and Michael found scattered at the loft doorway like an unwelcome mat.

But first he stopped and looked around. "Have you . . ."

"Jesse did. Yesterday," he said. "Loaned me a super scanner. I've used it again this morning. We're bug-free here."

Fiona tapped her finger on the pile of photos. "When Michael was first burned a CSS operative by the name of Jason Bly left dozens of these photos as a calling card."

"Michael mentioned it, so I checked yesterday. The bad news is Bly said the photos were not his work. The good news is, he's sending you a wedding gift."

Michael and Fiona looked at each other then.

"Then it must have been Carla or one of her minions," Fi said.

"Timeline might not work on that," Michael muttered.

"Maybe," Max agreed. "But look. What do you see?"

"Obviously not what you do," Fiona said.

"Here. My face is the only one in focus here. Michael was-"

"Telling you the agency should look into the discrepancies I cited in my report. Oh, and that I sounded like a paranoid nut."

Max winced a bit. "And here-again, my face in focus, Michael's in profile, here my face, Michael's back. And this, and this, and this." He threw the photos down, one on top of another. "Now these," he said as he placed the other images on top, "are informational."

Michael nodded in agreement.

"I think someone wants to know who all these people are, how they relate or know each other and Michael and me, because Michael and I are the starting point. This photo, this one and this were all taken days before O'Neill arrived. This one of you and Jesse-didn't you tell me this was taken before O'Neill arrived?"

"Same day, a few hours earlier than his flight got here," Michael acknowledged.

"These were taken from one of Madeline's neighbor's homes because it looks into the back yard and unless you noticed someone following you from the church to your mother's house, one of your mom's neighbors has an uninvited guest or a motion activated camera has been planted there. And these, three different places, three groups of two people, all taken around the same time, different locations, means three different photographers."

"Almost like they're spooks," Fiona commented then realized what she'd said.

"Exactly," Max agreed. "By the way, Michael, what did you say to your mother-in-law to make her laugh like that?"

"That we're having twins."

"Mum thought that was funny?" Fi asked.

"Focus, Fi. It means everyone is in danger."

"Maybe, but don't stop thinking that way," Max said. "This looks like a threat, but we don't know what it is. Someone is identifying risks. That would be me, Michael, Sam, Jesse and probably Sean if he was going to stick around. They may not know about your skills, Fiona, but the photos give them the means to find out. So, first the targets, then the leverage-Fiona, Nate, Nate's wife and baby, your mothers."

"Whatever seems like a benign threat . . ." Michael started to say, but Fiona finished.

" . . . is usually much worse."

Michael paused. "What about your wife, Max? Do you think any of this could affect her?"

Max shook his head. "You know, Westen, after seeing what happened to you, I made some changes in my life. Moved things, took some precautions I hadn't previously considered worthy of taking. Changed some property titles. My wife, of course, thinks I'm over-reacting."

"Or paranoid," Michael suggested, wryly. "Yeah, you'll get that a lot."

"Except I have been monitoring a couple of accounts, and the alarm was tripped yesterday. Someone's been snooping into my personal finances."

"Is someone trying to burn you?" Fiona wanted to know.

Max shrugged. "Or something worse."

Fiona frowned. "But why?"

"Because we missed somebody, Fi," Michael filled in. "After the CIA went after Vaughn's shadow organization, we still missed someone."

"So it's not over."

"Probably not, but we gutted the organization. What or who is left would need time to rebuild and they may not have it. Or they may. Either way, they've tipped their hand. On purpose."

"Well, isn't that just . . ." she said angrily. "All these monsters, all this time-Carla, Strickler, Gilroy, Brennan, Simon and then last year, thinking we'd finally put an end to it all after taking down Vaughn. That stupid NOC list has come back to haunt us, is that what you're saying? Because it sounds like that's what you're saying. I knew we should have destroyed it when we had a chance."

Michael crossed his arms over his chest and stared out a window. Fiona studied the photos again, and Max drummed his fingers on the workbench.

"You know, I keep coming back to the same place," Michael said.

"Same place I'm thinking?" Max wondered.

Michael looked at Max. "Yeah. Maybe the shadow is in plain sight."

"OK, Westen. Let's look at these files you've been keeping."

"Here. None of this is true. These crime were committed by-"

"Simon Escher."

"But first, I have to apologize, Westen. I've been telling you to ignore your common sense. That makes me the nut-case, wouldn't you say?"

#

#

#

#

After Max left late in the afternoon, Michael and Fiona separated the files they had spent the better part of the day searching. Michael had pointed out the holes he found when he was first piecing together patchwork intelligence on Vaughn's silent partners, prior to acquiring the NOC list.

With the information they had, they discussed approaches at length before deciding it was time to let the political world take another swing at this.

Around noon, Sam had stopped in to report that if the cell phones had been taken, it happened before the cops got there, which still didn't account for the phone O'Neill had taken from Michael.

Max had permanently put his concerns about Fiona's and Sam's insider knowledge on hold. They had a far more extensive background in this case than the come-to-the-party-late CIA.

Sam had also agreed to talk to U.S. Congressman Bill Cowley. When push comes to shove, the Congressman could shove farther and faster and better than anyone they knew in the intelligence community. And after the Vaughn fiasco, the Congressman had done something highly unusual. On one of his fund-raising trips home, he'd sought Sam out to thank him for his persistence in trying to get his attention. He was a patriot, and he recognized Sam, Jesse, Michael, Fiona and Madeline as such, too.

Michael picked up his phone when it rang.

"So Sam is not taking your mom now?" Fiona asked when Michael finished the call.

"That's what he said."

"This feels . . . like we should be doing more."

''More brain, less brawn, Fi."

"Because of me?"

"Partly, but mainly because with this situation, it's a smarter way to respond."

He turned to her and pulled her into his arms. "So, how was our first day of married life?"

Fiona rested her cheek on his chest. "It felt a lot like the last day of our unmarried life."

"It'll get better, Fi. By the way," he said as he kissed the top of her head. "Italy was part two. The honeymoon started in Paris."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Fiona stared at the ceiling, examined a couple of cobwebs in the loft's rafters and smiled. The honeymoon had indeed started in Paris. And quite by accident.

She had been there with Sean and Liam. They had been tasked with recovery of a traitor and a briefcase he'd stolen. It was filled with documents that would have endangered IRA operations by exposing a key informant. Their trip had been mercifully short; the traitor had been located and dealt with quickly. They were expected back home, but Fiona requested a reprieve. She'd had been living too many 24-hour days for the past six months. She was exhausted, mentally and physically.

"I'm tired. I want to stay here a while," she'd told Sean, and he'd agreed.

"Take your holiday. You've more than earned it. We've got time now. Come home when this runs out." He'd emptied his pockets and left her with a surprisingly generous sum that allowed her to purchase a few items of clothing and find an affordable room for a week.

It had been a cold, miserably wet spring, but the rains had washed the streets clean and the air was fresh and warming. She was sitting at table at the far end of a sidewalk cafe, her back to the wall, savoring her coffee, basking in the warmth and a pleasant breeze when Michael pulled out the chair next to hers and sat down. It had been more eight months since their last encounter in Germany.

"You don't look like you're working," he said as he reached to take hold of her hand.

Her mind had been wandering, and whenever that happened it usually wandered his direction. His arrival had startled her but she wasn't about to let him know that. "You speak French like ya learned it from a Russian."

He suppressed a smile and switched to English. "Could be. How long have you been here?"

"Here? An hour or so."

"Working?"

"On holiday."

"Me, too. Going to Italy. Want to join me?"

"Just paid for my room for the week. I like Paris."

"So you're not interested?"

"Have nice time." She smiled then. Not interested? Not in Italy. Not at this moment.

He leaned so close she could count his eyelashes. His eyes were focused on her mouth. "Where is your room?"

"Not far."

And that was a good thing.

As soon as Michael pulled the door shut and locked it, they fell into each other's arms like starving prisoners fell on bread. A trail of shoes, clothing and weapons scattered on the floor behind them on the short journey to the bed where they proceeded to tell each other with their bodies how much they had missed each other. And when they finished, they started over. They were filled with ravening hungers still not satiated by the end of the week.

At some point, they had left the sensual haze long enough to turn off their phones. All these years later, Fiona could only remember a couple of things about that room in Paris-things she kept safe in her visual and emotional memory banks. The way light through the gauze curtains bathed the room with gold, the sharp stubble of Michael's beard that he periodically took time to remove so as to not add to the collection of small scrapes and tender spots he'd created on her flesh, the downy soft bed and the complete freedom they shared that week to fully make love to each other without using words.

When her week's stay ended, they left for Italy for the safe house Michael had planned to use there. Before they arrived, though, he realized the location made him too accessible to someone at Langley, so they changed their plans.

Instead they rented a honeymoon cottage near the beach despite misgivings that the location was too exposed. There was another couple there like them, a man and a woman who were only interested in each other instead of who else might be there. Fiona and Michael stayed in their room during the days and visited the beach at night. Bread, wine, fruit and cheese arrived on their doorstep each morning. No one bothered them, no one intruded on their private world. At night, they slept in each other's arms, and were comforted and soothed by the sounds of the eternal ocean.

Two entire weeks had given Fiona enough time to discover every erogenous spot on Michael's body just as he had discovered hers. She learned he was ticklish, and he had learned she wasn't until the afternoon he had decided to kiss every inch of her body and found the single spot near her ribs that could make her giggle.

Their last night together began on a beach. A bare clip of a moon was visible between storm shadowing clouds above them. They sat on the sand, her back to his chest as she fit inside the protection of his arms. She could recall the coarse texture of sand on her skin, the salt scent of ocean air, a damp mist and crisp breeze and the heat from his body on as he surrounded her with his arms.

"I don't want this to end," she admitted.

He kissed her neck. "I don't want it to end, either, but . . ."

That word always made her catch her breath and hold it. That ugly, ugly word: But.

She knew there would be nothing she could do. That word meant he was bound for someplace else. This paradise had a trap door, and like all the times before, he would use it, and she'd awake alone again and he would be gone.

They returned to the cottage and made love again. And then again. She felt desperate and would have willed him to stay if she could have. He thought she was asleep, but she'd heard his phone vibrate, and from across the room, could clearly hear the voice at the other end of his whispered conversation.

His handler was yelling at him for turning off his phone. "Where the hell are you? You never made it to the safe house, but I know you're in the area. The only things there are honeymoon places, unless you're with someone. Are you with a woman?"

Michael answered none of his questions, and asked one himself. "What do you want, Dan? You said I had three weeks."

"Things have changed. I need you to be . . . "

If Fiona could have made herself deaf she would have. Instead she lay quietly, feigning sleep, as she listened to Michael prepare to take his leave. When the door closed so quietly behind him, she could not continue to hold in the sorrow racking her body.

He had not touched her before he left, but she was aware he'd stood at the end of the bed a long time and had watched her. It was then she realized she could never do this again. There are only so many times she could pretend she was not breaking into pieces.

Sean, however, had no trouble deciphering that when she returned to Ireland.

He took one look at her face and studied it. "Ya been with 'im again. Was that your plan when ya asked to stay?"

"No," she whispered. "No plan. I didn't even know he was there."

When she told Sean what she'd decided while she'd been traveling home from Italy, he wasn't surprised. "Ya need to tell mum, but I'm thinkin' she's not goin' to understand if ya bring McBride into the conversation. Where ya' plannin' on goin'?"

"We have a lot of people in Boston and New York. Maybe I can do some good there. I think I need a change of scenery."

"Is that where he lives?" Sean wanted to know.

"He's an American," she acknowledged, "but I don't . . . even know where he's from."

"It's a big country. Ya can get lost there. Are you sure that's what ya want to be doin'?"

And she was sure. For the next two years. She'd been able to breathe, eat, sleep, drink and exist. Each day got a little bit easier than the day before until the day a hotel maid in Miami called her.

She admitted to herself she'd been as worried as the maid that he might die. Because he was unconscious when she arrived, she'd had the freedom to touch him, to examine the extent of his injuries, and everything he'd been left with, which wasn't much more than his clothing and a pair of sunglasses.

There was one treasure trove. For a spy, his wallet was full of information that only someone who knew how to look would have been able to decipher.

She learned he had a mum, and located her phone number and address in the hotel room phone book. She smiled as she dialed the phone then realized when the conversation ended that his mother sounded as hyperactive as her own mother. And, she also learned he had a brother. She wondered if they looked like each other. Things were getting more interesting by the moment. And her temper was getting more explosive.

All the wanted then was a chance to tell him what a bastard he'd been. So she kicked him.

She rested her hands against the top of her abdomen. She had often wondered why, after their week in Paris and the week they spent near Genoa, she had not conceived a child, because all caution and precaution had dissipated within moments after Michael had closed the door to the room she had rented. It wasn't until she was traveling back to Ireland that she realized what she had not thought about. Part of her ached and hoped it would become true, but like many other things she wanted from Michael, it was not to be.

She had not thought about that moment for years, not until before their wedding day. And now she was left with this entire morass of mixed blessings. Twins. Precautions. An unknown enemy. Twins.

As she got up from her trip into the past and brief nap, she looked around for something to do. She had already watered plants. Swept floors. Changed bedding. Feather-dusted. Read What to Expect when You're Expecting Twins. Again.

She had worked through her gentle yoga routine. She piled her hair on top, then took it down and French-braided it, then undid it all and paced and practiced. And French braided her hair again. They had a small television. She flipped it on, then off.

She called Maddie, her mum, her brother and Jesse. Sam was in D.C. Michael had left early in the day to do something not to be disclosed with Max, something not related to finding the source of the photographs because Michael said he wasn't able to discuss it.

She glanced at the reloading scale/dispenser on the workbench on the far wall and debated. Reloading shells was not dangerous when proper procedure was observed. And, it wasn't like she hadn't been doing it for a couple of decades. Sam and Jesse had discussed trying some different shells for the practice range, and it would hardly take any time to do that. But she'd promised Michael she wouldn't reload while pregnant.

She'd promised him because he had asked her to.

Before their marriage, she wouldn't have cared if Michael was disappointed and especially not if his disappointment got in the way of what she wanted to do. Now, she was reluctant.

But, but . . . there it was, that ugly word. But maybe, that little voice at the back of her mind reminded her, but maybe it's because that book on expecting twins was far more informative than the pamphlet from the doctor's office. It frightened her because a miscarriage now would mean losing two babies, not one.

Could she do that again?

Fiona did not deal well with being frightened. Her practiced response usually turned fright, fear or grief into anger. That had worked so well for so long that the possibility of any other emotional response was categorically as unacceptable as the fright, fear or grief.

What she couldn't do was fight her own body. She knew she could follow all the health and nutritional rules and still lose her child. She decided her pregnancy with twins was like traveling to a foreign country where she didn't really understand the language, currency or customs, even if she had taken language classes and read the guidebook.

It was not a revelation to learn twins were a double blessing that came with a double risk for twins and mother. Michael had read that part of the book out loud to her. Twice.

"I am not about to foolishly risk our children," she told him, "but there are some things I can't control. I couldn't then and I can't now."

He had said soothing things, but since the night when they first felt the babies move, Michael's over-protective attitude had speed-shifted into overdrive.

They had spent a sweetly tender night making love slowly and gently, savoring, cherishing. They had parted and Michael's hand was splayed across her abdomen when they both felt the small fluttering movement from within and without.

Fiona was astonished at the sensation, and more astonished by Michael's reaction. "So this is what Christmas should feel like," he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her to pull her into a lung-crushing embrace. When they felt the butterfly movement again, he sprinkled her face with tiny kisses.

She could not have foreseen this deeply romantic side of her husband, although there had certainly been lovely, foretelling moments in their past.

His eyes were as dark and as damp as hers; it was stunning to absorb such loving intensity. And all was well. It was. Until he left and she was alone again, and her heart hurt. It was just that simple. It always had been that simple.

Self-pity wasn't going to get her anywhere, no matter how she wished her husband could simply be there, all the time with her. But before that could happen they needed to more clearly identify the threat against them.

She did need to protect herself and her body for the sake of herself, her children and Michael. Her physical limitations were about to increase which meant instead of worrying about things she had no control over, she could work on what she could control and put the rest in God's hands.

She and Michael had not revealed to each other what they discussed individually with Father Hector before their marriage. They had each sought reconciliation, and it was in that gift that she felt the weight of many pains lifted. She had been away for so many years she had forgotten the freedom that followed. Trust God, the priest had said. Trust God.

Fiona knew this was going to take practice.

And she was going to try. In the meantime, God had given her a perfectly good brain she could put to use. She pulled out a couple of the troubling files Michael had left. Over the years, she had observed a thing or two about non-official cover operatives and how they worked. Maybe she'd find something he and Max had missed.

So when Management knocked on door to the loft, she shouldn't have been surprised. She knew Michael and Max were questioning Raines' involvement, but she was focusing in on the old guy. She'd never liked him or his methods.

And her reason? Intuition.

Michael had installed a new peep glass at the edge of the door so there would no longer be such a thing as an uninvited guest.

"Mrs. Westen?" he asked through the door. "I know you're in there. I would like to have a word, if I may. I'm alone. I'm unarmed. Could I come in?"

Fiona verified he was alone by checking the window on the side. She opened the door, and kept her Walther PPS aimed at his chest. He had wisely raised his hands in the air.

She locked the door then frisked him, then held her hand out. He removed a small, lethal blade from his pocket and handed it to her.

"Please. Sit down," she invited. She was under no pretense that he was without resources or backup which is why she'd called Jesse and left the cell phone open on the workbench kitchen counter on a shelf that couldn't be seen unless you knew where it was.

"Congratulations are in order," Management said, taking one of the counter chairs. "For your marriage . . . and your new family. Twins will certainly keep you and Michael busy."

At the other end of that phone line, Jesse cursed silently.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

It was a survival trick anyone in the military or working covert ops learned quickly. Sleep when you can. When air pressure suddenly changed in the cabin, Max awoke. He turned his head to glance at his partner who was resting. Or not.

His eyes were closed, but there was telltale flush on his neck under that tan. His hands were folded against his stomach, and he looked as if he was sleeping, but wherever he was, Max knew he wasn't on a plane headed to D.C. He was still on that honeymoon Fiona mentioned, the one that very obviously preceded their marriage, the one that had caused the same reaction he'd seen in him yesterday.

Max smiled. "You know you're in trouble, don't you?"

Michael opened his eyes and stared straight ahead. "Yes."

"It gets harder when you want to be somewhere else."

Michael didn't respond.

"With someone else."

"Do you do that, Max?"

"More and more."

"Makes you a bigger target."

"Desk jobs can be good," Max commented.

"If you owned a business."

"Like?"

"Spies Are Us."

Max laughed. "You need to work on the name."

Michael frowned. "Yeah."

#

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#

When the phone rang, Jesse could hear Fi talking to someone, and then he realized she'd taken this precaution as an insurance policy. Every hair on the back of his neck stood at attention when he heard the conversation taking place in the loft. He reached for a second phone and punched in numbers.

Jesse knew Sam was in D.C. and also knew Michael was headed there with Max. He hoped Sean was at Maddie's and he was. "I'm coming to get you, man. We're going to the loft. I think Management's with Fi."

"What's Management?" Sean asked.

"Not what, who. And I haven't met him either. Tell you what I know on the way."

#

#

#

#

Fiona stared at her unwelcome guest, straightened her spine and elevated her chin slightly. "I thought you were dead." She had not put her gun down, and didn't plan on it.

"I think that was the intention, but Michael's and Max's friends aren't nearly as accurate with sniper rifles as you are. You know, I should be angry with you. Carla was one of my favorite operators."

"Not mine," Fiona said.

"You have quite a talent," Management said.

"Do you know Larry?" Fiona wondered. "He used to be dead, too."

Fi had already determined she could defend herself against Management, whoever he was. She assumed his mother gave him a name, which made her wonder if anyone knew it? Surely someone did. He appeared to have a frailty associated with age, but she'd encountered too many people of his age who were perfectly capable of inflicting lethal harm upon others.

"Aren't you astute," Management said.

"Larry took the photos and left them here," Fiona said, locking a puzzle piece in place. Max was the unknown.

"You're certain?"

"It makes sense."

"To you."

"What do you want?" she asked, tired of the game.

"I'm beginning to think we'll need you as well as Michael, now that you're married."

"We?"

"You both have such potential. And there are so many rewards for people with skills and talents like yours."

"That's always been your objective. Vaughn worked with you. Together, you had Michael burned."

He raised his hands, shrugged his shoulders. "So?"

"Vaughn who put Jesse's duplicate keycard in Michael's hand, so Michael would burn Jesse."

"What can I say? Michael was showing too much resistance. We didn't expect he'd turn Jesse into a friend. That complicated things."

Fiona had to wonder how many lives he'd ruined. "What do you want?"

"Michael. Then you. Jesse and Sam are useless, but your brother has some potential. I provide everything you want for support on a few, highly selected ops. In return, your lives will be very, very good. No one will ever bother you or anyone you care about."

"Except for all the people looking for us. You didn't win the last time. What makes you think you can now?"

Management just smiles. "Tell Michael I'll be in touch soon."

Fiona walked behind him to the door. He stepped outside. "We'll be in touch," he reiterated.

She locked the door and exhaled deeply. If Management was working with Raines then Michael and Max were in trouble, but she had the sense that wasn't true, and no good reason to believe otherwise. She reached for the cell phone under the counter. "Jesse? Jesse? Did you hear any of that?"

He didn't respond. The call had been disconnected which meant he would be arriving soon.

Michael, Max and Sam-none of them were answering their phones. Why not? Jesse pounded on the door, and Sean was right behind him.

"He's only been gone maybe a minute. Did you see him out there? Did you seen anyone?" Fi wanted to know.

"Does the guy have an invisible helicopter?" Jesse muttered as he closed the loft door loudly.

"Used to have a visible one until Simon blew it up," Fiona said. "Did you hear what he said?"

"Yeah," Jesse said. "I especially liked the part where he knows you're married and having twins. There's got to be another bug somewhere around Maddie's place. We gotta go back there and check. Dammit!"

"So if there's another listening or recording device, we don't know how many people are curious about Michael, now me and Max," Fiona said.

"Yeah. I got to wonder, who's working for who? We got Management, and by the way, we really need to find out that guy's name. Then there's Vaughn who's supposed to be stuck in a CIA prison somewhere, maybe or maybe not. And Dead Larry could be back. Maybe Raines is involved, maybe not. You gotta ask yourself: Is that the nucleus of a new covert organization or all that's left of the old one?"

"I know which one I want it to be," Fiona said.

"Me, too," Jesse agreed.

Sean helped himself to a beer from the fridge. "I just got one question. Who the hell is Management? Is that a name?"

Fiona shook her head. "People, like Michael who worked under nonofficial cover have coordinators. Some are in the CIA, and his was. But others report to people like Management, who may or may not work with someone in the CIA. It's almost too convoluted to explain. It's like the design in a Celtic Cross or a Gordian Knot. It's right in front of you, but if you step inside you can't get out. You can identify the maze, one bit at a time, maybe untie part of the knot, but as soon as you finish, you're right back where you started."

"How the hell do you know who you're workin' for?" Sean wanted to know. "Things are simpler in Ireland."

"No they aren't," Fiona said. "Every new generation in The Troubles twists the problem, but it never goes away."

"This isn't going away, either," Jesse added. "Sometimes you know who you're working for. Sometimes you're misled, and you have to take a wrong turn to figure out even if they sound like patriots, they're not," Jesse added.

He picked up his phone. "We gotta get in touch with Mike."

"He's not answering; neither is Max," Fi said.

"Not a concern, not where they're going."

Fi raised an eyebrow. "How do you know where they're going?"

"Saw them at the airport, Fi. Ran into them when I went to pick up a consultant for my company. If Michael didn't tell you, there had to be a good reason."

"We need to talk to Sam." Jesse and Fiona voiced the same thought.

"Why Sam?" Sean wanted to know.

"Because he's in D.C. talking to the chairman of the Intelligence Oversight Committee," Jesse explained. "That guy is kind of a pain, but whenever we've needed his help, he's been there but only after he gives Sam a lot of grief first."

"He likes us because we guaranteed him two landslide elections," Fiona explained.

"First thing you've said that's makin' sense," Sean added.

Just then Fiona snapped her mouth shut, and her eyes got big as she glanced over to the counter. She pointed at the knife she'd taken from Management and started looking around for the ultra high tech scanner Jesse had left with Michael.

Jesse read her mind. As soon as he activated the small device, amber and red lights blinked rapidly. Fiona could see Sean's reaction, but stopped him from speaking when held up her hand while shaking her head no.

"So, let me call Sam," Jesse offered. "Sean, you stay here with Fi and I'll head over to Maddie's."

"No, Sean and I'll head over to Madeline's, too."

Using the listening device against Management only seemed fair. Fiona reached for her bag, shoved her handgun inside and added the extra clip. Jesse retrieved a second revolver from the workbench drawer, and handed another one to Sean. They closed and locked the door behind them.

Jesse followed Fiona and Sean to Carlitos. It was as good a starting place as any.

#

#

#

#

"It's not a very sensible hair style." Ena checked her reflection in a store window. "I've never done anythin' like this. Fiona won't believe it."

The silver in Ena's red had miraculously turned into gold with the help of an extremely skilled colorist, who, when she finished, turned Ena over to a stylist who then trimmed and shaped and shampooed and dried and styled before acquiescing to Ena's request to balance the whole naturally curly mass on top of her head with a decorative clip.

"Have you always done sensible things?" Maddie wondered as they walked into another shop with nothing but risqué lingerie displayed on gaunt mannequins.

"That gent's been followin' us since we left the hair shop," Ena noted as she wandered near the window to get a better look.

"He was in the bookstore, too." Maddie picked up a lacy slip and glanced out the window.

"Wouldya happen to be carryin' a weapon?" Ena wanted to know.

"Actually," Maddie said, "a year ago I took a class, got my concealed carry permit and-"

"He's headed this way," Ena interrupted. "We should disappear."

"Fitting rooms are in the back," Maddie said.

The two size 4 slips Maddie and Ena used as props landed on a chair inside an unoccupied fitting room while they wove their way through a box-filled delivery entrance and into the alley behind the store. Ena nodded to the left, so they could work their way back toward the front of the store from the opposite side of the street.

The cafe they found offered a perfect location for observation with wide plantation blinds, high backed booths and lots of greenery. They took a corner booth because it was near a couple of exits. Maddie examined a menu while Ena lifted a blind and watched the elderly white-headed man and the two rather large men accompanying him leave the lingerie shop and look around. All three were wearing dark suits, hardly making them inconspicuous among colorfully and casually dressed Miami shoppers. A limousine pulled up and all three got in.

Maddie jotted down the license plate number, just in case it was needed. She picked up her cell phone but held it, remembering things Michael had said in the past about the cell phone use. "I've got a feeling we'd better not make calls on these things."

They sat there for at least a half hour, sipping iced teas, debating about what to do next.

They had dismissed several ideas when Ena lifted the blind again and saw Fiona drive by with Sean in the passenger seat. "Isn't that just the luck?" she said as she reached for her bag. "There's Fiona and Sean."

Maddie looked out the window and saw Jesse drive past in his Porsche. "I know where they're going."

Maddie and Ena joined Jesse, Fi and Sean as soon as they sat down at a table. "We've been followed," Maddie explained.

"By some old man," Ena added. "Don't think he was goin' to ask us to dinner."

Fiona described Management.

"That's who 'twas," Ena said. "And he had two thugs with 'im."

"They got into a limo. Here's the license plate, if you need it," Maddie said, pushing the piece of paper toward Jesse.

Jesse pulled out a phone. "Madeline, call your neighbor Laura. Have her call the cops and tell them she's seen another prowler."

"Why?" Maddie asked. She opened the phone then held it.

"Because she has, whether she knows it or not," Jesse explained, "and that phone's safe, but it won't be after this call."

Once they landed, Mike and Max never made it out of the airport. They were surrounded by men in suits who whose jackets were ill-fitting because they wore them over shoulder holsters. Escorted to a limo, once they were inside their hands were zip-tied.

"SAU is good name for a business," Max said as he was shoved down in a seat.

"Yeah," Michael agreed as he was forced in the limo.

"Where are we going guys? Max asked.

No one answered.

Michael was calculating the odds that Raines was behind this, and when he looked back to Max, he shrugged. "Probably."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Raines removed the restraints from Michael and Max, led them through a narrow corridor. The operations center was camouflaged deep inside an amalgamation of offices, supply areas and storage zones. It was a highly secure, protected environment that didn't look like anything at all, on purpose.

After they cleared the secure entrance, he led them to a small office that overlooked a research area filled with dozens of computers but just a few people.

"Was that necessary?" Max demanded, irritated, rubbing his wrists.

"Sorry. You were supposed to be escorted in protective custody. Someone interpreted that incorrectly," Raines explained. "This is why."

Raines took a seat at a small table with a laptop computer and clicked through several files until he found the one he wanted. The screen blinked open revealing a photograph of dead man. "One of our friends at DIA was following a lead. This guy had already killed two CIA anti-terrorism experts, but at least one of them managed to get him. This is what was found on his body so they sent it over to us."

Max and Michael glanced at black and white photos of themselves.

"We were supposed to be hits?" Max said.

"You get used to it," Michael commented, frowning.

Raines zoomed in on the image of dead man's face. "Does this guy look familiar to either of you?"

"Yeah," Max said.

"We saw him in . . . Caracas on the Kessler mission," Michael said, thinking back. A few seconds later he recalled exactly where he'd seen him. "He was one of the Venezuelan cops."

"He was one of our NOC operators. Like you, Westen. Somewhere he went wrong."

"Or someone made it seem like he did," Michael said grimly.

"Look, I owe you an apology, Westen. When we took down Vaughn's organization, it was so huge it took us too long to see the holes we missed, especially when it overlapped with what was left of Barrett's group and with what Management was doing. After we started looking into O'Neill's arrival, we realized there are still leaks in every intelligence community from here to Australia. We thought it ended with Kessler. It didn't. This guy," he tapped the screen, "is proof. And . . . he had a ticket to Miami on him."

Michael clenched his jaw. "Good news then."

Raines scowled at the sarcasm, but his attention was diverted to Michael's hand. "Why are you wearing a wedding ring?"

"Because he got married two days ago," Max filled in.

"The girlfriend? You should have-"

Michael interrupted. "I didn't need your permission."

"Then this will complicate things," Raines said. "Because neither of you is seeing daylight until we're done taking down the rest of this network. Management has reappeared. We need to know who he's connected to."

"Reappeared, Raines? Reappeared?" Michael shouted. "You said he was dead, killed while you had me and Max on that wild goose chase in Toronto six months ago!"

"We had bad intel. That's one of the starting places: the source of that intel," Raines said quietly, then paused. "And the other starting place would be Miami. Management was there today."

With that Michael leaned forward, the menace in his posture clearly intended. "Where in Miami?"

"Your place," Raines said. "Your gir-, your wife was there. He didn't stay long."

"You're watching. How many? Since when?"

"Two," Raines replied. "Since yesterday. And, she's at your mother's house now."

"I need to talk to Fi," Michael said flatly. "I need a secure com. I need to know what Management said to her. I think she was the hit."

Max looked at him, a question in his eyes.

Michael shook his head. "I really need to talk to Fi."

#

#

Fiona sat at Jesse's rather impressive desk at SecuriCo and touched a sleek, thin monitor with Michael's face on it. Her fingers were touching his, in the same way his were touching hers, at the bottom edge of the computer screen. The liquid crystal display was a poor substitute for human touch.

Jesse's office was as safe a location as could be had in Miami, and Fi's face time with Michael had been provided courtesy of software that allowed for secure, encrypted online communications, a situation made possible because of Jesse's CIFA security clearance.

They had exchanged information, and Fiona had been surprised to learn that Sam had joined Michael and Max at a CIA location he couldn't talk about.

"But, it was all a bluff, Michael. I understand why Management wants you, but his offer to me was an afterthought because of our marriage. He was manipulating the situation. And, he knows about the twins, dammit."

"However, he's listening, you need-"

Fi cut him off. "Yeah, yeah. Jesse's helping. We'll figure out how they've been snooping. It's . . . invasive," she said with a shudder. "I loathe this business."

"I'm sorry, Fi." Michael said quietly.

"You're getting better at saying that." Her voice was as crisp as a frost on dry ground.

"Even if I can't be there yet, I'm serious about your security, Fi. Management's reference to Carla was a threat. Carla killed Victor's family, but Management ordered it. He's setting up the same situation for you now that he knows we're married and . . ."

She paused and finally nodded. Michael's assessment made sense in a terrifying kind of way. "I understand. Does this mean you'll be coming back?"

She could see Michael glance over his shoulder. "As soon as I can," he said softly. "But I don't know when."

He had already told her he and Max were being confined to work on the remaining links between Barrett, Vaughn and Management. She had volunteered to come and assist, as had Jesse.

"Raines won't let that happen, and I need you to stay safe there, Fi."

"You know, Michael, one of these days we are going to have to discuss what you need, what I need, and where your loyalties lie."

"Now, Fi . . ."

She cut him off. "I'll get Jesse. I know the two of you need to talk." With that she rose, and from a dimly lit room somewhere in the greater D.C. area, Michael watched Fiona walk out of his sight, spine straight and clearly annoyed with him.

Michael closed his eyes. Apparently being married didn't change some things.

Thirty minutes later Max watched Michael slam out of Raines office, his body language vibrating like a thunderstorm. He could see he was battling his instinct to leave as opposed to finding out all he could to end the situation here.

He went over and offered him a soda in an attempt to get him to refocus. "Help me understand. Tell me about Victor."

They walked over to one of the dimmer corners in the basement-like room. "A couple of years ago, one of the people Management sent after me was a woman-Carla, another recruiter. She sent a guy named Victor; he called himself a wrangler. When I realized he kept blowing his chances to kill me, so I captured him."

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Max said.

"Carla had killed his wife and son, had set him up as a fall guy for another murder in Mexico City and got him burned. Somewhere while he was trying to figure out how he got burned, he identified Carla as the source. The CIA has to have records on him somewhere, and Carla. She was burned, too."

"So, now Management is still recruiting only with better leverage since they know about your marriage and the twins. Damn, Westen, twins. Do you ever do anything the easy way?"

"Not according to Fiona."

Michael filled him in on the end of Victor's story and Fi's role in killing Carla and his subsequent year without Management overtly present in his life. "You got a problem," Max agreed, "and I got a problem, but yours is better. Management wants Fiona dead, and someone wants both of us dead. Almost makes me think there's someone else involved."

"Yeah," Michael agreed. "It does and, either way, we got to end this."

#

#

#

Fiona and Jesse met Sam at the airport just before the weight of the day's heat and humidity settled on Miami. Sam's return had been delayed; Cowley had kept him working with two of his NSA-assigned investigators for another week.

Sam looked happy to be back. "Do you know no one can make a decent mojito in Washington," he grumbled. "Never thought I'd actually miss the heat."

On the way to Madeline's house, he filled them in on his visit with Congressman Cowley, and the subsequent meetings with Raines, Michael and Max in a CIA dungeon full of computers. There was some comfort in knowing Cowley was alert to the situation, and greater comfort when Cowley told Sam he'd never been satisfied with either resolution after the CIA took down Barrett's and Vaughn's networks.

"There's a missing puzzle piece, maybe more," Cowley had said. "They're linked together some way. Someone knows, though."

Seven long days and nights had passed since Fiona had heard from Michael. She wasn't worried; she was angry. Irritable. Annoyed. And letting everyone know it.

Jesse tried to calm her. "Cool it, Fi, really. You need to mod-er-rate. This can't be healthy for you or the kiddies," Jesse grumbled as he reached for one of the bags Sam was carrying.

When they arrived at Madeline's house, the first thing they showed Sam was the eclectic collection of listening devices and motion activated cameras they had scoured from the property. They were being stored in a large metal box with an audio scrambler placed inside for good measure.

"That's how Management knows I'm expecting twins," Fiona grumbled.

"Where'd you find all this stuff?" Sam asked.

"Man, it was everywhere," Jesse explained. "Maddie's house, her garage, all of her the neighbors. Thing is, some of this stuff is state of the art, and the rest is old tech. It looks like we've got at least two sets of people watching us, and they know Maddie's house is the center for Westen activity, so they covered every angle."

"That fits with the photos, too, but one of the photographers is Larry. I know it, and Management didn't deny it."

"Dead Larry?" Sam asked. "Crap, why can't we get rid of that guy?"

Sean shook his head. "Dead Larry? Ya know someone named Dead Larry?"

Sam explained. "He's a creep who worked with Mike a long time ago, faked his own death and shows up every so often."

Fiona sighed. "Just when we think we've seen the last of him, he comes back."

"Likes to kill people just to kill people," Sam added.

"We'll havta' take care of 'im then," Sean said. "Ya' know, this means they're goin' to know we found all their stuff."

"Oh, yeah," Jesse smiled. "Mikey and Max can do what they want in the CIA basement, but for my money, the fight's coming here. It's always been here."

"They know Mike isn't here and we are," Sam said. "Makes us an inviting target, especially, if they think Mikey's in CIA jail."

"I wonder if there's anyway we can speed up this process?" Fi wondered out loud.

Three men turned, looked at her and started telling her, loudly, why that was bad, bad idea.

"Good grief, girl!" Ena muttered from behind them. They turned around and found Ena and Maddie staring at them. Apparently, they'd decided since no one was telling them what was going on, they were going to find out for themselves.

#

#

#

Fiona followed the nurse to the scales, put her shoulder bag on the floor, toed off her sandals and stepped on.

"You've gained two pounds," she said noting the date and weight change on Fi's chart.

"It feels like 20," Fiona said a bit sharper than she'd intended, and followed the nurse into an exam room.

It was interesting, this first pregnancy. From the back, she didn't look pregnant. And, with some careful dressing, she didn't look pregnant from the front, either, but from a side view, from under her breasts to below her abdomen, her twins were pushing out, making room for themselves.

Every day, she felt a bit more like a stuffed doll. Every day she found it more difficult to bend, and the twins' movements were increasing. She had a very strong sense they were boys, so strong, in fact, that to herself, she'd started calling them her boys.. One of them was slow and liked to stretch, while the other one was running foot races all day long. She decided if she was wrong and they were girls, then the racer was like her and the luxurious stretcher was like her sister Claire.

"Is that your father in the waiting room?" the nurse wanted to know.

The rare man in the clinic waiting room was generally a younger dad who corralled small children while mom went to see the doctor. Sam's crisp white pants, brilliant blue and white Hawaiian shirt and his physical presence tended to draw all eyes, and the admiring glances aimed his direction were from nurses as well as patients, Fi noticed. She found it entertaining to observe all the attention Sam was getting.

"Why, yes, it is," she said with a wide grin.

"He's a handsome man," the nurse commented.

"Mum thinks so, too." Fi tried not to laugh. She was being perfectly honest, but not in the way the nurse could have understood.

This was the most fun she'd had in days, and it was most definitely better than over-thinking her past and present relationship problems with Michael. Could someone married almost three weeks have relationship problems with her husband? Of course, she could, especially if those problems existed long before the marriage.

"I'm sorry your husband couldn't be here today," the nurse said as he escorted Fiona into an exam room. "Are you still sure you don't want to know the gender for your twins?"

Fiona assured her she was.

Since Jesse, Sean and Sam had laid out the ground rules for Fiona's safety, they'd also decided it would be Sam who would accompany Fiona to her OB/GYN appointments. She'd enjoyed his discomfort when he first walked in the spacious waiting room and was quite literally surrounded by dozens of women in various stages of pregnancy. The nurse's comments were something she would use to tease Sam later.

When Dr. Prentice entered the exam room, he smiled. "Textbook perfect," he said about her weight gain and vital signs, "but this looks like the end of your second trimester so the only other people who are going come to see me as often as you will are also expecting twins. We'll see you again next week. Promise me you won't miss appointments."

Fiona promised she wouldn't.

When she rejoined Sam in the waiting room, she wasn't surprised to find him chatting with a very attractive older woman. The woman smiled warmly and said to Sam, "so this is your beautiful daughter."

"Yes, this is my girl," he said, "Fi, meet Mrs. Jameson. She's waiting for her daughter, too."

"Nice to meet you, " Fiona said. "Come on, Dad, we need to run that errand for Mum."

They were halfway out the clinic door, when Sam's cheerful demeanor slipped. "That was not nice, Fi. I told her I was divorced."

" I was perfectly nice. It was your idea for me to call you Dad. And we do need to make that stop at the drug store for my mum. Sam, promise me you won't try to pick up women in the waiting room. It's tacky. Because I have to go back every week from now on."

"Every week?"

"And it'll be twice a week when we get to the six weeks from b-day."

"Really?" he said, grinning again.

"And here I thought it would be a good lesson for you," Fiona said. "You realize, with your . . . dating habits, you're not too old to be a first time dad. Think about it."

He turned his head slowly, looked at Fiona and blinked. Understanding washed across his features. "Oh, no. No, no, no." Fiona smiled then. Sam's discomfort was amusing. Michael's absence was not.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Fiona was restless. Since Management's unexpected visit, she'd been staying with Maddie along with her mum and Sean. They had decided after the wedding not to return to Ireland until the babies were born in another three months, and Maddie had encouraged them to stay with her.

Ena had given up the bed in Michael's old bedroom to Fiona, and was sleeping in Nate's room while Sean had moved in from the garage and was sleeping on the couch in Maddie's living room. Fiona's boys had kicked her alert an hour or so ago, and she'd restlessly turned and then turned again before she settled in to visit a nightmare from the past she thought she had eradicated.

She and Michael were sitting next to each other, their backs to the wall, their hands together, clutching either side of an explosive she'd created. They were ready to end their lives together, to take with them as many of Vaughn's men as possible, so Jesse could have enough time to escape with the thumb drive that contained the NOC list of operatives in Barrett and Vaughn's nasty covert operations group.

She was startled in alertness by the cold and painful end of a handgun barrel braced against her temple. She looked up in time to feel something cover her nose and mouth and something warm blossom in her arm.

The next time she awoke she was on her bed in the loft. Her mouth was dry, and sunlight was streaming through the open doors to the deck. She blinked, then tried to focus. Dead Larry was sitting outside on the deck. She closed her eyes again but her stomach objected and she found herself getting up and scrambling to the bathroom. That's when she discovered, thankfully, she hadn't been trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey.

#

#

It was nearly ten in the morning before Ena, Maddie and Sean discovered Fiona was missing.

That was verified when they found her shoulder bag with her Walther and cell phone

beside the bed. Her car was still in the driveway.

They had determined she needed her sleep, so they stayed quiet until Ena went to peek in on her. It was logical to assume she was taken instead of having left under her own volition. Sean was the first to berate himself for not being alert to an intruder. The longer Ena and Maddie thought about it, the more frightened they became.

They called Sam immediately, and asked Jesse to contact Michael.

But before he did anything else, Jesse logged into the remotely operated security cameras he'd installed on Maddie's house. When they were removing all the devices that had been placed on her residence, he made the decision without conferring with anyone to discreetly install his own.

Jesse believed there was a connection between Vaughn, Management and Larry. He didn't understand what it was, and he'd never met any of them face to face. But after learning about Larry from Sam and Fi, he was convinced he was the most dangerous of the three. Psychopathically dangerous.

Jesse had kept the information about the small, unrecognizable cameras he'd installed to himself, hoping it was wasted effort. It wasn't. He narrowed GPS search fields for time and scrolled through, stopping at 4:20 a.m. Someone entered Maddie's kitchen door from outside, either with a key or a lock pick. A few minutes later, the same person left carrying a body over his shoulder. Jesse sighed. Fiona. He'd recognize the shape of those legs anywhere.

The question was . . .why would someone take Fiona to the loft? And who else was there?

"Crap." He said.

"Using my word. That can't be good," Sam said as he walked into Jesse's office.

"I know where she's at." He showed Sam the tapes, explained why he'd installed the security cameras, and told him about the micro-locator inside her wedding band. "There's one inside Mike's ring, too, as long as he's still wearing it."

Sam looked at him. "You put locators inside their rings?"

"Yeah," Jesse said. "Wedding gift. Hey, it's what I do."

"We need to get some eyes on the loft, and we got to call Mike."

"Yeah, that's up next," Jesse said, clicking in a series of commands that brought up the warehouse building Michael and Fi lived in.

"You bugged the loft?"

"No, man, didn't violate their privacy, just put eyes on the exterior like at Maddie's place."

Sam watched as Jesse flipped past frames, ending on a time slot and scrolling until he found images of someone carrying a body up the loft stairs at 5:07 a.m. "That's Fi."

"And that's Dead Larry," Sam said. "We got to get rid of that guy."

"We've got to talk to Mike."

#

#

#

#

Max nudged Michael's shoulder. "Wake up. Jesse needs to talk to you about Fiona."

They'd worked all night sorting security codes and matching users, hitting dead end after dead end. Because Michael had been at it for more than 24 hours and Max had slept, he'd taken over. "Just grab a couple of hours, and come back to it."

Reluctantly, Michael agreed. Since his conversation with Fiona almost a month ago, Michael had relentlessly followed, tracked and assembled packages on every link he could find that hinted at involvement in the Barrett-Vaughn conspiracy. Max had been a step behind him the entire time.

Hearing Fiona's name sent Michael into an abrupt state of alertness. "Where?"

"Com room."

He was still rubbing sleep from his eyes when he sat down and faced Jesse, listening to every word he was relaying about Fi's disappearance and how he'd located her. He could see Sam pacing in the background wearing worry like a coat.

"She's still at the loft and it looks like it's just the two of them. Sam and I are going over there and getting eyes on the place. I'm thinking about trying the Westen-rooftop entrance. Mainly, I want to find out if she's okay or . . . "

"Yeah," Michael said. "I need to be there."

"Wait, Mike. Let us do this, and get back to you, say in an hour? Or less."

"Yeah," Michael agreed with obvious frustration.

Less than forty minutes later, Michael was notified to return to the com room. It was Sam, not Jesse returning the video call. He could see Jesse in the background at another computer.

"She's gone, Mikey. Just gone. Place is locked up like you left it yesterday. Looks like she was there, was on the bed, got sick, used the bathroom and changed clothes. And that book is missing, too."

"What book, Sam?"

"What to expect if you're having twins. She was nuts to get it back when she realized it was still at the loft, so I got her another one. It's at your mom's house. There's something damned weird going on here, but I don't-"

Jesse interrupted then. "Surveillance was compromised. You can see him go into the loft with her, and then nothing. There are no images with them leaving the loft, but I did find a 15 second lapse that occurred a couple of hours ago. That means they know about my cameras, and they're tied in. All we know for sure is that if Larry took her, he must have drugged her, and took her to the loft, then left. That's all we've got."

"Oh, and one more thing, Mikey," Sam added. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Fiona's wedding ring. This was on the nightstand next to the bed under a tissue."

"She had to do that on purpose," Michael interpreted. "Dammit! Why did she . . .? Dammit, I know what he wants. I don't know why I didn't see this before. It's that damned thumb drive."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Which he? Larry or Management? And how do you figure the thumb drive? That was dead issue after we turned it over to Raines almost a year ago."

"No. We didn't." Jesse said. "Think back, Sam. If you'll remember, I was on a stretcher. I'd just palmed the drive to Mike when Raines' goons came after him. He gave Fi a kiss good-bye and slipped the thumb drive in her back pocket. When I got out of the hospital two days later Fi gave it to me. I took it back to CIFA, had it decoded with Simon's Bible. I asked the analyst make two copies and gave them to Raines personally. By then, the thumb drive had been turned into a bunch of zeros and ones. I gave it to Fi. I don't know what she did with it, but now-"

"Whatever is left on that drive is what everyone wants, and what Raines needs," Michael filled in.

That met with silence while everyone digested that thought.

"Whoever decrypted the drive for you dropped files, on purpose, Jesse," Michael continued. "That's why Raines couldn't take down the rest of Barrett's organization. That's why I kept finding holes. We know Vaughn co-opted it, and Management wanted it, and Larry found out about it from Brennan. So he killed Brennan before he discovered Jesse and Fi had escaped with it."

"How would he know Raines didn't get all the info on the drive? Unless . . . " Max started.

"Unless whoever Jesse got to decrypt it was working with Larry or Larry knew how to find him," Michael said.

Jesse agreed. "Two things. We need to get Fiona back, and I need to get back with CIFA to find out who was involved with decrypting the NOC list."

Sam was still not convinced. "How would Larry know Fi had the thumb. . . Crap, he probably watched the whole thing go down after the firefight. We thought the cops had him . . . damn, if this isn't a lesson in not leaving dangling ends. To be fair, there were only five of us trying to survive the evil empire."

"We're still trying to survive, Sam. I'll be there as soon as I can."

#

#

#

#

She was being held in some sort of extremely well insulated climate controlled storage facility, Fiona decided.

She couldn't hear any noise at all beyond the AC ventilation, which meant whatever sounds came from this room probably couldn't be heard on the opposite side of the walls.

He'd brought her here in the back end of a panel van. She had tried to keep her sense of direction, but he'd made so many turns, her internal map was a bit confused. She thought they must not be far away from the apartment complex she and Michael had looked at before he had asked her to move into the loft.

The storage unit was new, too. It could have been built after one of the hurricanes last year. There didn't seem to be any evidence of cockroaches or mice, only a few spiders.

She had scoured the room, looking for any evidence of a listening device or surveillance camera and couldn't locate one, but considering how small those things were these days, she couldn't be sure.

It was a shame she'd had to leave her wedding ring behind when she figured out Larry did not know they were married. In her experience, the less the guy holding you hostage knew, the better. He'd taunted her while she was vomiting bile in the stool.

"Don't blame Michael for this," he'd said in that simultaneously soothing and frightening tone of voice. "That was all me and that little relaxer shot I gave you. Blame Michael for getting you pregnant and not marrying you, but you're going to have to blame me for everything else because I plan on making things very . . . troubling for you, Fiona. Very troubling."

She'd thumbed the ring off and held it in her palm when he jerked her up and away from the toilet. "Now be a good girl and get dressed. We have to be going. Where do you keep your clothes in this dump?"

He'd watched her dress, and when she sat on the bed to tie her shoes, she waited until he looked away to slip her ring under a tissue on the nightstand.

"What kind of pervert are you?" she'd asked.

"One who's trying to figure out how pregnant you are."

"Not very," she'd replied.

"Just enough then. That'll work."

And that was the problem with the ceilings.

They were just enough higher that if she set the futon on end, climbed on top and tried to access a ceiling panel, she still wouldn't be tall enough to reach one. The overhead lights were on and stayed on. There was a porta-potty in the corner. Someone's grandmother's colorful knitted blanket and a lumpy pillow had been left on the futon. Bottled water and juices and boxes of crackers had been left in a box on the floor.

She knew she was getting specialized treatment because of her pregnancy. What she didn't know was what he wanted.

Larry only appeared to be interested in her well-being. Fiona knew that would only last until he got Michael. She'd guessed her role would be one of victim. Hurt the pregnant woman and the dad will do anything, that was Larry's game plan. And it would probably work, too, she realized.

That was odd, she thought. She had been worrying about how Michael prioritized things in his life, but she knew. She had always known. Maybe, as Jesse suggested once, she had always known Michael was not the settling down, picket fence kind of husband. And the truth was she didn't want that kind of husband.

She righted the futon and moved it back into place, then started examining its structure. What could she take apart on that frame, and could she turn it into a club.

What she wanted were tools. Weapons. She didn't even have a hairpin. She'd dressed in a pair of soft pants with a stretchy waist and a t-shirt and sneakers. Not her normal shoe choice, but eminently practical if need be. And need might be.

Larry had brought along her book-What to Expect when You're Expecting Twins. He had been wickedly entertained by the idea that Michael was to become the father of twins. If he lived that long, that was.

She was still trying to figure out what Larry wanted three days later when the door opened and an angry, red-faced Larry drug Michael's limp and battered body into the room and shut the door. At least now she had a weapon-a slat she'd removed from the bottom of the futon. It wasn't much, but it would work.

Michael had passed out. As Fiona examined him, she could see he was more severely injured than he had been at the time she'd returned to Miami five years earlier when a hotel maid was worried he might die.

There was a large blood stain on one side of his shirt, and it wasn't his blood, she realized, because the only injury under his shirt there was a ugly red and purpling bruise. She could see a bullet had grazed his forehead, another creased the top of his shoulder, and still another had gone through his right thigh. He'd wrapped a woven belt around and over a blood-soaked cloth pad covering that wound.

She cradled his head in her lap and tried patting his cheeks lightly. She needed Michael conscious. Finally his eyes opened. "Tell him," he rasped, "Raines has it. Tell him." And then he passed out again.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Leaving D.C. hadn't been easy.

"Tell Raines what's happened," Max urged. "Listen, I know what she means to you, but be smart about this. You don't need the CIA on your back. Come on, Westen. You need back-up. We're telling Raines. You're not the Lone Ranger anymore. He needs to know what you know."

Michael blew out a deep breath and didn't say a word.

"I know you're worried about her, but slow it down," Max advised in a soft, reasonable tone.

Michael had been replaying every hour, minute and second of memory he could dredge up from the days preceding the final fight with Vaughn. It started with Brennan's goons killing Marv, then led to Brennan's summons and Larry's arrival. There had to have been two scenarios developing then, one without knowledge of the other. He knew the same situation was in place now.

They would need every ounce of mercy they could find if Vaughn had somehow joined forces with Management, and Michael knew that somehow, he was linked to Larry, or he was playing Larry into thinking he was.

The most chilling memory came from a conversation with Jesse.

"Know what a psychopath is, Westen?" Jesse had asked him after he learned his role in having him burned. "Some who's unstoppable. Untreatable. A killing machine. That's what I'm feeling now." Jesse was stressing his point, and Michael had understood his message even as he knew Jesse was as far removed from being a psychopath as Larry was a perfect fit for the mold.

Michael had tried to explain this to Max, but he'd seen his skeptical response. The mere idea of Larry being anywhere near Fiona sent a shiver deep through Michael's soul. He knew he was on the verge of a frantic kind of panic attack, and he was trying to keep it all under control. But the more time passed, the more difficult that was becoming.

It had taken two hours for them to locate Raines. It took another hour for Michael to explain the link between the thumb drive, Simon's Bible and the incomplete NOC list that Jesse had provided, and his conjecture on why the list was incomplete.

"You interrogated me for a week after that firefight," Michael said wearily. "I told you everything I knew then. I thought you memorized the debrief, Raines. Max did. You knew about the thumb drive, and Jesse provided the printout of that decrypted list which you used to shut down what we thought was the rest of the operation. Whoever decrypted that for Jesse is part of the Barrett-Vaughn network. Right now, the only person who knows where it is missing, and she doesn't have you at the top of her Christmas list."

"Do you know where did she put it?" Raines asked.

"I'm not even sure she has it. For all I know, she destroyed it. The drive wasn't important after the text was decoded and meshed with the key. Jesse returned it to Fi after he left CIFA. A souvenir of what had happened, that's all I know. Except someone believes it still has value, and it's the only thing that makes sense now. You didn't get everything that was on that drive. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"We've still got the Bible," Raines said. "We'd need to match it with the NOC list."

"If the thumb drive still exists. Either way, unless we give him the support he needs to get his wife back, no one is going to know. We need to get back to Miami, and we need support," Max said.

Within thirty minutes, Michael and Max were on a military transport to Miami. They had just taken off when Michael turned to Max and thanked him.

"I appreciate what you did. I'm not used to help unless . . . "

"It's one of your friends," Max said.

Michael nodded. "Thanks. Friend."

"You're welcome. Friend."

#

#

#

"I am not happy," Larry told Management.

"That is unfortunate," Management replied. "Because I've done everything you requested. Now what we expect-"

"I expect my partners to be honest, and you're not." Larry was pacing, flipping a steel knuckle as he walked, slipping it on and off his fingers, gripping it, turning it, shoving a mock punch in the air, reversing hands, swiping, clenching, unclenching. "You were supposed to meet me Westen's place with him and you failed. I fulfilled my part of our bargain and brought his woman there, but you did not perform, and I had to use my backup plan. What, oh what, are we going to do about this? What?"

"You were not aware of the surveillance on either that property or his mother's."

"And how does this concern me?" Larry asked, as he continued to pace and punch the air.

"Westen has friends now. This complicates things."

"We eliminate the friends. I have wanted to get rid of Sam Axe for some time."

"He's not the friend you should worry about," Management said calmly.

"Jesse? The new guy? Max something? Not a problem. I have friends, too. Miami is full of friends who will do anything for the right price." Larry approached the old man until his face was inches away from his. "Including eliminating friends of friends."

"Westen should be arriving soon," Management said, as he rose and gripped a cane. "We will make sure he will be at your disposal within the hour."

#

#

#

Raines had arranged for transportation at the air base, a standard issue grey sedan. Max released the trunk latch while Michael searched for weapons inside the vehicle.

"We're unarmed. I thought he was going to leave us . . ."

"Yeah," Max said, frowning, "I thought so, too."

There is no such thing as an odd event in espionage. There are accidents, plans, botched plans and mistakes. The fact they were in Miami and without weapons did not bode well.

"Question: Do we stop and go back and arm ourselves or move forward," Michael asked.

"Forward," Max replied. "But I don't like it."

"Not good," Michael muttered. "Get us to Jesse's place. We need to talk to him, and he has weapons. Not liking this, Max. Not liking this." He opened his phone and called Jesse and made him aware of their precarious situation.

"Get here as fast as you can, and we'll take care of it. What are your CIA buddies doing' for you?" Jesse asked.

Michael ignored that. "Can you call Sam, too?"

"Yeah. See you soon."

They were within a mile of SecuriCo when Max checked the rearview mirror.

"Look behind us, Westen."

Michael turned and looked. Four black SUVs with blacked out windows surrounded them; one passed in front and then slowed down. They were boxed in on four sides and were being escorted.

"Raines didn't do this," Max muttered.

"No, he didn't," Michael agreed. "This looks like Management's style." He opened his phone and found the signal had been jammed. "Damn."

Their vehicle was guided to a what looked like an abandoned marina. They stopped, turned off the car and opened doors to get out. The SUVs around them did the same thing. A small army of muscle-bound, black-shirted thugs surrounded them and escorted them inside an empty warehouse.

Another black SUV pulled up and parked. Management got out and slowly approached, using a footed cane for support.

"That's new," Michael commented. "Hurt yourself?" He walked around the vehicle to stand next to Max.

"Some of your friends tried to," Management said. "You know, Michael, one of the things I came to Miami for has disappeared. And that's a shame, because I went to a lot of effort to make sure it wouldn't. I thought you and your friend Max could help recover it for me."

"We could send a search party," Michael suggested. "Maybe put up wanted posters."

"A possibility," Management agreed, "but not one of my liking."

"Perhaps if you told us what you were looking for?" Michael suggested.

Management had aged since the last time they had met, but he wasn't foolish enough to think that meant he was without skills or abilities to inflict great harm on himself and his family.

"Ah, yes. It is a list, Michael, an important list for me and my friends."

Michael nodded, then glanced over Management's shoulder to see another familiar face join him. "Larry."

"Michael. That wasn't a very warm welcome. Congratulations, by the way. I hear you're a married man now. I took the plunge once, huge mistake. And this," Larry said, waving his handgun toward Max's shoulder, "must be your new CIA friend Max. Now what could bring both of you to sunny Miami today?"

"Just out for a ride," Max said.

In the blink of an eye or an exhaled breath, without conscience or pause, Larry lowered the pistol and fired it directly into Max's chest. The close-range shot hit his heart, and he dropped instantly. The proximity of the discharge made Michael's ears ring. He flinched and grabbed for Max, holding him under his arms as they slid to the ground together. He pressed his hand over Max's heart, as if he could stop the fatal wound from taking Max's life.

"See?" Larry said, turning to Management. "Why make things hard when you can simplify?" He held up his pistol. "Frangible round. Quick and efficient."

Michael clutched Max's body, and felt the warmth of his blood soak into his shirt, and the breath of life slip from his body.

"Tell my wife-" Max's last whispered words tore Michael's heart in half. He clenched his jaw, squeezed his eyes shut and felt the rise of rage. In the blink of an eye, a calmness settled over him as slowly eased Max's body on the ground and stood, controlling the anger that vibrated wildly through every part of his being.

He faced Larry and gritted out his question in the softest of voices, his hands clenched in fists. "What do you want?"

"Why, Michael, you know what I want. It's the same thing I wanted the last time I was in Miami when your friends took it from me."

"No one took anything from you," Michael said.

Management used his cane to place it in front of Larry and stepped around him to face Michael. "It's a thumb drive, Michael. I know you can get it for us."

"I don't have it," Michael said. He could feel the warmth of Max's lifeblood cooling on his shirt.

"No, Fiona has it," Larry insisted as he moved to the side, away from Management.

"No, she doesn't."

"True. You weren't there. I watched you being arrested and after you left, I saw her take it out of her pocket and show your buddy Sam."

Michael was delaying, trying to figure possibilities, alternatives. The one thing he knew for certain was that Larry would die.

Management stepped around Larry again. "All of this unpleasantness is unnecessary. You're a reasonable man, even if my friend here isn't. We know Fiona had it and gave it to Jesse. He had it decrypted and then it was returned to him. We know he doesn't have it, and that's why we want to know where it is now."

That was odd, Michael thought. Management sounded almost reasonable when compared to Larry.

Michael looked at Management, not Larry. "The CIA has it."

Management studied Michael's face. "No. You know where it is."

"I know who has it, but not where it is. Raines has it."

When Michael saw a glimmer of doubt flit across Management's eyes, he knew he had the tool he needed to extend his life and, perhaps Fiona's.

"Now, why do you do that?" Larry asked, crowding Management out of the way for a second time.

He raised his pistol and fired a shot at Michael; it hit his thigh, and Michael crumpled over in pain, groaning. "You don't reason with them, you speed up negotiations."

He leaned down, and shoved the pistol under Michael's chin, elevating it to eye level. "Feeling reasonable now, Michael? Where's the thumb drive?"

Michael jerked away and tugged his arms free of his suit jacket, then jerked at one of the sleeves until it tore free. Unbuckling his belt and pulling it out of his pants, he turned the sleeve into a pad and wrapped his belt around his thigh to suppress blood loss. It hurt like the devil had taken a vicious bite out of his leg, but at least the shot missed his femoral artery. On the other hand, frangible ammunition meant he was in a world of hurt and infection was setting in even as he tightened the belt over the wound.

When he looked up, Larry clipped him on the side of his jaw with a metal clenched fist. He was feeling dazed, then glanced to see Larry's fist encased in stainless steel knuckles. "New toy?" Michael asked.

"Where's the drive?" Larry said, louder, pointing the gun at Michael's chest.

"Raines has it," Michael repeated.

Larry fired again; this shot clipped the top of his shoulder and splintered his collarbone. Blood ran down his chest. Michael gasped.

"Who has it?"

"Raines. Raines has it."

Larry's next shot creased his forehead.

"Raines has it," Michael said, struggling to breathe in, with blood dripping in his eye, and down his face and neck. "Shooting me is not going to change that or get you an answer you like."

"Enough," Management said, motioning to two of his men.

Larry was as angry as Michael had ever witnessed a man being angry. "We'll see about that."

Management instructed two of the thugs to put Michael in the back end of one of the SUVs. He said something to Larry that Michael could not hear.

Michael realized he must have passed out, because when he opened his eyes, he could see Larry was driving and Management was in the passenger seat. Two thugs, one on each side of Michael's battered body, were holding him upright. When the vehicle stopped, it was at the rear of a storage facility that had a high wall on the end. and no obvious escape route.

"Let's see if the missus can talk some sense into you," Larry said as he watched the guards lower Michael to the ground. He couldn't stand under his own power. "I know you're lying."

The implication was crystal clear to Michael. If he didn't tell Larry what he wanted to know, he was going to hurt Fiona. It seemed odd to realize the wild card here wasn't Larry, it was Management who seemed to object to Larry's approach.

"I gotta tell you, this is going to be fun. I haven't killed a pregnant woman yet, but one with twins, that would be fun. Three for the price of one. Think about it, Michael," Larry muttered close to his ear. "Think about it."

With that Management raised his footed cane as a threat against Larry and Larry turned and knocked him flat with the butt of his revolver. "That old guy has been pissing me off all day."

Michael slumped to the ground again, as the thugs who had been holding him up turned toward Management to pick him up. The last thought Michael had before he passed out was that it was good to know the thugs apparently were being paid by Management, not Larry.

The next thing he became aware of was Fiona, with tears in her eyes, looking down and patting his cheeks with her hands. He was instantly fearful for her. "Tell him," he rasped, "Raines has it. Tell him."

#

#

#

Fiona used every trick she knew to bring Michael back so he could regain consciousness, but he was a leaden weight whose body temperature was rising with fever. She was truly worried for him. Between his leg and his shoulder, he would not be able to move under his own power. Her only tools were bottles of water and pieces of fabric she had torn from her pants and used to bathe his features and try to cool him.

She had no knowledge of how long ago he had been shot, but she realized there was no exit wound so she assumed it was a frangible round which would account for the rapid fever. He had spiked and he was periodically delirious, and the only thing he could murmur was her name. Or Max's name.

Now she was fearful for his life. It was a horrifying emotion that she knew she had to control.

Larry hadn't returned, but she was ready for him. With the overhead lights on constantly, she had begun to lose track of how long she had been held, but surely, now that Michael had been brought here, she had to believe he would return sooner instead of later.

It was only after Michael's body had been dumped in the room that she realized she did have a second weapon besides the slat she'd removed from the futon. It took the form of the thin curved metal supports inside her bra. The bra Larry had watched her put on after he'd ordered her to dress at the loft. She had removed them from the bra, then removed the plasticized ends that kept the sharp metal ends from poking through the fabric to skin.

Lashed together with thread she'd pulled from the elastic in her pants, she comprised a small, curved, pointed weapon that hardly looked like something lethal, but she knew given ample motivation, she would use it in the deadliest manner she could.

She had tested the door. The hinges were on the opposite side of the door, the doorknob was smooth the latch secured on the opposite side in a way she could not access. She knew Larry would be returning, and she knew Michael needed medical attention.

It was difficult, but she had moved his overheated body over to the side of the door so he would be behind her. She could continue to bathe his face with water and try to cool him, while she waited by the door. Even her boys seemed anxious for the fight, because they had become hyperactive.

Fiona said her prayers for her small boys and their father, and held tight to the wooden futon slat she planned to use to hit Larry with when he returned. She was just inside the door, sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, waiting and listening for the sound of anyone approaching. She changed positions frequently. She did not want to be still and unable to move when she needed to. When the sound of something metal scraping metal put her on instant alert, she felt her heart rate speed and knew the adrenalin was calming her.

When the door swung open, she recognized him before he saw her.

Fiona swung the thinnest side of the slat as hard as she could against Larry's shins. He howled with pain, and dropped to his knees. But, he twisted and raised the gun and fired it in her direction. She felt a hot bite in her shoulder as she raised the slat and hit him a second time on the side of his head.

He was out.

She looked up and realized Management was standing just outside the door and had watched the entire time. He studied her for a moment before speaking. "My admiration, Mrs. Westen."

Beyond Management were two black shirted thugs. He nodded to the men behind him. "Get him." The men did as instructed.

Management glanced at Fiona as he followed them, then he stopped and turned back. She flinched as he reached inside a jacket pocket, and looked warily at his offering.

It was a cell phone.

"You should call an ambulance."

#

#

#

"There he is," Jesse said. "We got him."

The micro-locator in Michael's wedding band was functional, and pinpointed his location. "You need to come back and work for us," Raines said.

"Not a chance in hell," Jesse muttered, as he glanced back at his laptop screen. "Now go get him. No, wait. He's moving. Fast."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Raines introduced himself, and took the hospital lounge chair next to Fiona. His elegant suit, crisp shirt, silk tie and highly shined shoes were at odds with the cold, sterile room and the patients in it.

She briefly wished she was armed with something more than a bad attitude and a black oversized tank top and grey shorts and baby blue socks. A grey fleece jacket covered her shoulder bandage, but her left arm was plumbed to an IV line. So was Michael's but he had a far more colorful and plentiful collection of bandages, monitors and medically infused fluids.

Fiona subtly angled her body and face away from him. "I know who you are."

He and his kind at the CIA were irritants in her life she did not want to deal with today or any other day. She knew what he wanted. Before he appeared, she'd been asking herself if giving it to him would fix the problem or exacerbate it.

She hadn't decided.

She had been watching Michael sleep. Fiona preferred his state of conscious sleep over being unconscious. After his surgeries, and after his stay in intensive care, they had been able to exchange a few words. She had memorized his expression of conflicted emotion when he first realized where he was and what had happened.

It had been almost a year and a half since he was last here, injured and recovering from surgeries as a result of fighting a different battle from the same damned war.

Would it ever go away, and if it did, would he be alive to tell the story?

The doctors monitored him closely, and he was doing well, or so they told her. Initially, they believed his leg wound to be the most serious problem, but they told Fiona the reconstructive surgery on his shattered clavicle was more complicated. The plates and bone screws used could cause him pain throughout his life once it healed.

One of Michael's surgeons remembered repairing the gunshot wound to his scapula, and he also remembered Fiona and her attentive concerns, so he came looking for her. He found her sitting in a hospital exam room waiting for her OB/GYN doctor while Sam was stationed outside.

When he realized she was pregnant, his eyebrows elevated. "I certainly hope you can convince your husband to take a desk job or change his career path," he advised. "Because I'd rather not see both of you here again next year. His wounds need to heal. Rehabilitation takes time. About the heaviest thing he'll be able to lift with that injury will be your infant. And he's going to be using a cane for a while, too."

That ought to be the picture, she thought. Michael with a cane and me with a basketball stomach. Might as well paint the word TARGET on us.

Fiona had been dealing with her own physical problems. The bullet wound that creased the top of her shoulder was painful but healing, and most importantly, her babies had come through the past week in good health. Even so, she had a few moments of pure terror when her doctor told her she was seriously dehydrated and explained why that was such a great risk for both her and her twins.

Her IV tether was a necessary annoyance and she had been waiting for her physician to arrive and let her know if she could have it removed. Given the unusual circumstances of the two patients in the room and their armed guards, the second bed in the room was hers.

The guards currently stationed outside their room were seriously grim and unfriendly souls, and the door was posted with STAFF ONLY and RESTRICTED ACCESS signs. Raines had assigned the 24-hour protection detail after Max's body had been found.

Raines had yet to speak with Michael, but she knew that debrief was high on his priority list. The thumb drive was the other thing he wanted. She didn't look away from Michael when she finally said what had been weighing on her heart. "Have you spoken with Max's wife?"

Fi realized she didn't even know if they had children.

"Yes," Raines said. "She is under protective custody right now."

"I'm sure that will make her feel better."

"Mrs. Westen, I would like to speak to you about what your husband and Max were working on when these . . . events occurred. I know you have a level of awareness most civilian assets do not."

"Most civilian assets haven't been living a nightmare for five years. Michael's your asset; I'm not."

Raines didn't flinch at Fiona's viciously sharp tone. "You know they came here because they learned you were being held prisoner?"

She did not look at him. Sam and Jesse had filled her in on what she hadn't guessed, but if Raines was trying to make her feel guilt and act on it, it wouldn't work.

Skipping details, Raines sketchily outlined the CIA's current interest in the thumb drive which mirrored the questions Michael first raised with Jesse and Sam. She knew about them, and wished she didn't. She was deeply regretting she hadn't taken Michael's concerns that the takedown of Vaughn's operation was unfinished. She'd been so anxious to move forward, to leave the ugliness of the past behind them, that she didn't want to see that Michael knew they couldn't do that yet.

Raines cleared his throat. "Do you have the thumb drive? Jesse Porter said- " he paused, waited, then asked, "Can you tell me, is it secure?"

She chose not to reply. Raines didn't push. Instead he simply said, "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Westen."

Dr. Prentice was entering the room as Raines brushed past him on his way out. There was a question in his eyes as he started disconnecting Fiona from her IV. He'd now met her family and friends, but the scowling man who left as he entered the room seemed to be neither. And his patient had a matching expression on her face.

"I bet if I take your blood pressure now, it'll be elevated," he observed, as he put an adhesive bandage on the spot on her arm where he'd removed the IV needle.

"Probably," she agreed.

He patted her arm. "Now we don't have to keep you tied up, but I'm not releasing you as a patient yet. I've ordered a glucose screening and a couple of other tests," he paused for emphasis. "Normal tests I'd order if you were coming to see me at the office. We'll do those tomorrow."

By now Fiona's doctor had learned a number of unusual and intriguing details about his patient, including her real name and her unusual life, and he was happy to accommodate her needs.

"You're due for another weekly check on Thursday, so I'll bring your file and see you when I do rounds. Your husband," he nodded over to Michael, "will still be here then. Promise me you'll do your best to stay safe until delivery," he said. "Nine weeks isn't as far away as you think. We really don't want you to go earlier than 36 weeks."

"I'll do my best." Fiona sighed.

As soon as Dr. Prentice left, Madeline and Ena swished in on a cloud of cigarette scented cologne with a side note of Irish whiskey. "How did you two get here?" Fi asked, frowning.

"Cab," Ena reported.

Madeline had gone straight to Michael, while Ena reached to hug Fiona, something Fi found entirely unexpected, but she'd noticed the more time her mother spent with Madeline, the more common the gesture was becoming.

"If that thing is gone from your arm, it must mean you're ahealin'. Does this mean ya can leave here?" Ena whispered. Of course Ena's whispers were a lot like anyone else's normal speaking voice.

"It's good, Mum, but I can't go yet. The doctor's ordered some tests-just normal tests, he said."

Madeline approached and gave Fiona a quick hug, too. "And even if you could leave, you wouldn't. How is he doing?"

"The doctors said he'll be sleeping a lot, and that it's good for him. He'll heal when he sleeps. And he'll have a long recovery time. They aren't saying much beyond that for now," Fiona explained with a bit of weariness.

"We just came for our five minute check in. Sam's still outside, so we'll let him come in next. They're awfully strict about who and how long they let in here, aren't they?" Maddie said.

Fiona nodded, and gave both her mum and Michael's mother hugs as they left. She walked over to Michael's bed and put her hand on his. "You can open your eyes now, Michael."

He opened his eyes slowly and turned his head toward her. "How did you know?"

"Your breathing changed when Raines came in the room. I was watching your monitor."

A small smile touched his lips. She lowered the bed side rail, then moved closer to lean over and kiss him. "You heard."

"Jesse needs it back."

"Are you sure?"

"Mmhmm." With that, he drifted back to sleep. He'd had long and longer periods of wakefulness, and she had been amused that he could drift into feigned or genuine sleep so quickly. She thought it was a helpful, healing sign, but his severely damaged body was still far away from being able to move as he directed it.

Fiona went to the door and motioned Sam and Jesse to come in. She told them what Raines wanted and about her very brief conversation with Michael. Then she told them where she'd stashed the thumb drive.

Jesse grinned. "Love it, but we're not doing this. We'll let Raines retrieve it, and grab that knife Management left with the listening device. I'll go find him. He's still lurking around here somewhere."

As Jesse left, Sam looked at Fi and tilted his head to one side. "So how are you doing there, missy?"

Fiona felt an onrush of tears. Not again. So it wasn't a fluke, she thought, not if the situation repeated itself. Why was it that Sam's concerns for her-not those of her mother, brother, Jesse or Maddie-could trigger this emotional release? "Oh, dammit," she grumbled, as she tried to wipe them away.

The night the ambulance arrived at the hospital, Michael had been surrounded by fast-moving, fast-talking, efficient care givers in triage mode before they all rushed him to the surgical suite adjacent to the ER. Fiona had been given a quick exam before she was forcibly separated from him, taken to an exam room and told to wait.

Her body had just started shaking when Sam appeared at the door. He slipped his hand into a pocket and returned her wedding ring to her. She took it, felt its warmth on her finger, but when she looked at him to thank him, her eyes watered and it was as if every emotion she'd held in check for days rolled down in an cascade of tears. He'd closed the distance between them and held her gently while her body trembled from the aftermath of the adrenaline rush, and her watershed of tears told him all he needed to know about her fears and worries.

"I don't do this," she kept saying to him. "I don't do this."

"I know," he said, "but you got an excuse."

That stopped her. "What excuse?"

"Look down, Fi."

And when she did and saw her pregnant belly, she laughed through the tears.

When the doctor appeared, Sam gently separated himself from her and said, "I'll be right outside, kid."

And now Sam shook his head as he held her while she felt her body releasing silent tremors of anguish. "This is never going to end," she said, pulling away from him, wiping her hands across her face.

He reached into his pocket and handed her a snowy white handkerchief, a purely gentlemanly gesture she never would have expected of him.

"I'm turning this into a habit," she said quietly. "I'll return your-"

"You're allowed, Fi," Sam said. "Oh, boy, are you allowed. Let's get you sitting down or resting in a bed and make Uncle Sammy happy, OK?"

#

#

#

Michael's tormented rest was troubling. Fiona awoke to watch him turn and pull and mumble incoherently. With aggressive movements, he pulled one of the monitor leads from his arm, which triggered a beeping alarm and brought a nurse silently into the semi-dark room. She reached for the monitor and pushed off the alarm.

Fiona was out of the bed and standing next to him, reaching for his hand with one of hers and using the other to stroke his face. Within a heartbeat, he calmed. Again.

"Third time I've seen that in as many hours. This isn't good for either of you," the nurse said, as she glanced over to Fiona's bed and smiled. "I have an idea."

With their beds moved next to each other, wheels locked in place, bed elevations equalized and side rails down, Fiona could rest. She kept her hand on his chest, which seemed to allow Michael peaceful rest.

When the thud, click and squeaking wheels of breakfast carts in the hall announced morning at 5:45 a.m., he awoke to find Fiona's hand on his chest. He reached to put his hand on top of hers but found his arm restricted by straps secured to the bed rail.

"Don't pull that out again," Fiona said, yawning and turning toward him. "You've done that all night long."

"Get these things off me," he said, breathing heavily. "Now."

Fi got up, then padded to the opposite side of his hospital bed to unbuckle the restraints. "Better?"

He smiled when she returned to her bed, rested on her elbow and leaned down to kiss him.

"You are really, really . . . really . . . pregnant." His observation held a bit of awe. It had been more than a month since he'd left to go to D.C., and what seemed a lifetime ago since he realized Fiona was pregnant with his child. His twins. Their presence in her body made it seem as if Fi had somehow swallowed a basketball. A moving basketball.

"I've noticed that." She took his free hand and held it to her abdomen. "They're busy boys."

"Boys? I thought you didn't want to know."

"No one told me, but I know."

He smiled. "What if you're wrong?"

"Then you'll have to decide on girl names, since I've already named the boys."

"You've decided on names?"

"Michael, baby names didn't seem to be at the top of your priority list. Meet Seth and Justin." She pressed her hand on top of his. "They're a bit rowdy, and I have to wait to find out if they're identical or fraternal."

"I'm sorry, Fi. I should have been here to -" His eyes glazed with emotion and as he closed them, Fiona reached to kiss his face softly.

Her eyes grew damp, not from regret but from the anguish of seeing the injuries to his face. "No, Michael. I'm sorry. I should have listened to you when you said it wasn't over."

"It never was," he said, but he stopped when the door opened and a doctor came in. Fiona recognized the surgeon who'd told her Michael needed a desk job or a different line of work. She swallowed a painful lump in her throat and moved away, pulling the robe she'd been sleeping in closer around her.

The doctor took one look at the beds arranged next to each other and shook his head. "There's a reason why there should be space on both sides of the beds," he said.

"And there's a reason why they're together," the nurse behind him said, as she handed him a clipboard.

"I'm sure there is. Mr. Westen, let's see how we're doing today."

Michael looked at Fiona. "We're doing much better."

Doing better was a short-lived assessment, but Michael's doctor agreed, at least in regard to his physical condition. All of his medical and plumbing apparatus had been removed. He was to resume, slowly, a normal diet and schedule. When Michael said he wanted to take a shower, the doctor indicated someone would be sent in to help him do that.

Fiona could see how eager he'd been for the good report, but as soon as the doctor and nurse left, Michael was exhausted. He put his head on the pillow and immediately fell into a deep sleep. Normal would resume later.

She delayed their breakfast tray, and returned to the bed to sleep as close to him as she could, her hand in his. Even the twins were at peace.

It was a peace that wouldn't last long.

#

#

#

Fiona's tests were administered in a different part of the hospital. She'd been escorted to the lab by Sam and one of Raines' grim guards, who kept her in their line of sight while the tech was drawing blood.

By the time they returned, the room she shared with Michael was barricaded by another guard. There were now three guards at Michael's door, with the fourth assigned to Fiona. She and Sam were escorted to an adjacent room and requested to wait.

When they arrived, they found Jesse pacing and snarling like a panther in a cage.

"You're up next, Fi," he warned her. "Raines is doing Mike's debrief now. Apparently Mike's doc said he was good to go, but he didn't look like it to me."

"Or me," Fiona agreed. Just then one of her twins gave her a solid kick under her ribcage and she let out a whoosh of air. Jesse looked puzzled, but Sam held her arm as he led her to the nearest chair.

"Did you-" Fi started to ask him, but another kick left her trying to fill her lungs with air while stretching to allow the twins more room than she had available. "Ahh," she said. "I swear, they got bigger since yesterday."

"Here, let's do this," Sam said, as he reached and pulled a lever on the chair, sending it into a recliner position. It allowed Fiona to stretch her petite body into a much more comfortable position.

"Now I see why people like these chairs," she sighed and blew out a breath.

Jesse scowled. "Are you, you're not . . ."

"No," Fiona said, "this is just normal."

"Shouldn't we call a-"

Sam interrupted. "No, they go through this stuff. Watched a whole waiting room full of preggie women do this when I was taking Fi to the doc."

"So you're an expert now?" Jesse said.

"Oh, no, no. Just a casual observer." Sam shook his head. "Not an expert."

"That's good to know, Commander Axe." Raines had silently entered the room. He nodded to Jesse. "Agent Porter."

"You're not up to date," Jesse said. "We're retired. Actually, I quit."

"And I didn't retire; they kicked me out," Sam added.

"Well, about that," Raines said. "I've checked. You are both receiving government pensions, which will be suspended if you choose not to cooperate. Agent Porter, while this may not be the same concern for you as Commander Axe, let it be noted that at the discretion of the DOD, you have been recalled to service. I've already spoken with your employer about it; your job will be waiting when you finish."

"So, let's get started," Raines said. "You two can sit over there. We're doing a group debrief in this room. I've already talked with Michael. By the way, he was fine when we finished, Mrs. Westen. He's sleeping now."

He turned to Fiona. "Do you need to use the facilities before we begin?"

Her gaze narrowed in on him. "Not at the moment. Why are you doing this?"

"I've apologized to Michael for not taking his concerns that the network was still operational seriously, but that still leaves us with a larger problem-one I can't clearly define yet because each of you knows a part of this story, and I need to hear the whole thing from you. I should have done this last year. It's going to take a while."

He set digital recorder on a table. "Mrs. Westen, we're starting with you. What brought you to Miami five years ago."

"A hotel maid."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

By the time Fiona, Sam and Jesse each told their story of how they came to be involved with Michael in Miami, and how they had worked together to help him find the source of the burn notice, Raines had the whole picture and 7 hours had passed.

He'd had food brought in, even some beer for Sam and Jesse, but at the end, he realized he had a lot of information that could be joined together in several different ways.

He'd returned to his office and had been reviewing their debriefs, listening again and again to what he marked as turning points in the intersecting Management-Barrett-Vaughn operation.

Westen had provided the crux of the recent history, and it was clear that Westen and the people he called his team had been the key players. He glanced out his hotel room window, and concluded they were people his agency should have treated with more respect, except for the fact that the nature of working in intelligence is to be suspicious.

The intersection of Jesse and Michael was planned, but Vaughn could not have predicted how their personal relationship would morph into friendship and change the course of his plans.

Their loyalties to each other worked for them, while the CIA's distrust worked against them every step of the way. Westen and his friends were indeed an effective team of intelligent, highly skilled, highly capable individuals, and he needed them.

Raines counted a few strokes of luck that landed in his lap. As CIFA was being disbanded, Jesse's service had been reassigned to the DOD. Sam's history had been tarnished by a sloppy personal decision, and fatal juggernaut for a final assignment that turned him into a political hot potato.

Then there was Fiona. He couldn't help but admire the woman. While her loyalties were purely personal, her skills were on the same level as every other skilled operative Raines had ever worked with, and on par with her husband's unique skills.

When he realized the number of personal favors Max had called in to cleanse her history and provide documentation for her legal presence in the United States, he recognized the depth of the bond he and Michael had formed.

These friends had bled for each other and had saved each other's lives. And Michael and Fiona were holding him responsible for Max's death. As an outsider, Raines felt fortunate to have learned as much as he did today. But it would be the government resources at his command that would need to be scrutinized. The leaks, holes and problems all led back to his camp.

Vaughn was still safely in prison, but Raines now knew he had a pipeline out and it led straight to the former CIA operative who now called himself Larry Garber and the Westen people called Dead Larry. Larry's greed for the thumb drive and his strange, personal vendetta against Michael had triggered this series of dominoes by sending O'Neill in as bait.

But it was Management who most perplexed Raines.

He knew him. Once, he had been a legitimate manager with a solid, lengthy career. He'd been respected by his peers until he ventured into running a black ops syndicate off the books for the CIA. That was where and how Michael entered the picture.

Management's temporary move into black ops was one from which he had never returned. He'd operated outside for so long, now he couldn't return, but it was the combination of Michael's comments and Fiona's information that Management provided the cell phone that allowed her to call for help, consequently saving Michael's life, that made him agree with Westen's assessment. Management was a wildcard.

Raines now knew what had to be done, and who had to do it.

#

#

#

Fiona was exhausted.

She wanted to go home. She wanted to sleep in her bed and she wanted Michael there with her. Fiona wanted to lock the loft and secure their world from the outside, but that wasn't going to happen.

She, Sam and Jesse had spent hours answering Raines' questions, listening to each other's stories, learning tidbits about each other they hadn't known before, while Michael was in the room next door. She'd made numerous trips to the bathroom, and had nibbled at the food Raines ordered. Her twins fussed and twisted the entire time. She was exhausted and her lower back was causing her quite a bit of pain.

When she returned to the hospital room she shared with Michael, he had been in the shower, attended by a large male nurse. Their beds had been moved apart again, and that in itself was distressing. She climbed into the uncomfortable thing, and tried to rest but her mind had put everything she and Sam and Jesse had told Raines in a repetitious loop. She didn't realize she'd fallen asleep until someone came in and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm. The next time she opened her eyes, she realized the night had disappeared.

"Good morning."

Fiona looked up and to see Michael smiling down at her. He was freshly shaved, his hair combed, even though there was still a bandage at his hairline where Larry's bullet intersected with his scalp. The bruising on his face was fading but still clearly visible. He was wearing a pale blue dress shirt and dark grey suit pants. And behind those clear blue eyes, there was a wall of physical pain, indicating he had stopped taking his pain pills, medication that previously had been infused by IV.

She had watched him do this the last time he'd left the hospital before doctors were ready to release him.

"I'm checking out, and I'll be working with Raines at the office here. Sam and Jesse will be with me, so Raines has assigned a team to watch you and our moms. He wants you to stay with my mom, to stay safe, and I want the same thing, Fi."

Fi wedged herself up on her elbow then realized her body and her babies were not going to allow her to stay that way. She sighed, swung her feet over the side of the bed and headed to the bathroom. "Give me a minute."

When she returned, Michael was leaning against the bed, steadying his weight with a cane and wincing.

"Yesterday you could barely stay awake and today you're-"

"Not taking the drugs, Fi. You know I can't function with them." He reached to touch her but she stepped back, avoiding his reach.

She was shaking her head no. "Your leg, your shoulder . . . Michael, you're not healed, your bandages, please, Michael, you need to get stronger before you . . . " she stopped talking when she realized it wouldn't make a bit of difference.

"Fi, I promise I'll come and see you as often as I can. I promise. I'm not leaving Miami. I'll just be a few miles away, Fi. That's all. No matter what, I'll be here when the babies come. I promise."

Fiona believed if he said another word, which she was certain were all the right words to his ears but none to hers, her heart might implode.

"We can't have our life unless I fix this now, Fi. I've got to."

"I know you think you do, Michael, but you don't."

He looked at her and shook his head no. "I do. You know I do."

Raines stepped in the room then. "Westen, it's time. They've got a wheelchair for you here."

Michael leaned down to kiss her, but Fiona turned her head so his lips landed on her cheek. "I love you, Fi," he whispered.

She looked at him then, nearly crippled with grief, and turned away. She watched his reflection in the window as he hobbled out of the room and was seated in a wheelchair.

Then, when the tears found their way to her eyes again, Sam wasn't there to tell her they were permitted.

#

#

#

Maddie, Ena and Sean had been briefed by Raines on what was happening. He explained that they would have protection 24/7, and had given them photos of the security team members, five men and one woman who would rotate days and hours.

Raines told them whatever items they needed from Michael and Fiona's loft to make her stay there more comfortable, he would be happy to have brought to them. Then he explained why Sam and Jesse wouldn't be around.

"Is this ever going to be over," Madeline had asked him, somewhat testily. "Ever?"

"Yes, Mrs. Westen, this particular operation will come to an end. But it may not happen as quickly as you or your daughter-in-law would like. And after it's over, there will be other work to be done. But it will end."

Madeline wasn't sure she liked the sound of that, and told him so.

And when he filled her in on what his other requirements were, she didn't like those, either. They would be as sequestered as a jury, with only each other for company, except for the days Fiona went to visit her doctor. Nate, Ruth and Charlie would have their own security team, and would be allowed to visit.

Then he apologized. "None of this is your son's fault, Mrs. Westen."

That turned out to be a small, but important, bit of comfort for Madeline.

#

#

#

Raines kept his word and was as accommodating as he could be. The one thing Fiona wanted from the loft was the bed, and that was delivered promptly. The sheets had been pulled off and tossed in a bag, so when she pulled them out, she held them to her face, inhaled, and put them on the bed because she could still smell Michael in the linen.

Sam arranged for a recliner chair to be sent to Maddie's house for Fi, and Jesse sent her a dart board.

When she opened the box, she laughed. There was a recent picture of Michael's bruised and bandaged face on the face of the board. His nose was in the center of the bull's eye. Someone had drawn devil's horns, glasses and a mustache on his face. But she understood Jesse's clever message. She wouldn't be throwing darts. None of this was Michael's fault. None of it.

By week 30 of her pregnancy, Fiona was as uncomfortable and as testy as any pregnant woman could be. She detested her waddle, the constant travel to a bathroom, her inability to see her feet. She realized Maddie, her mum and Sean were all steering clear of her.

Her mother commiserated. "Had the same thing, what with your da being as big as he was. Big babies, but never two at a time."

Fi's doctor had wanted her to attend birthing classes for all of the 30 seconds it took him to figure out how many armed guards that would involve, so he sent her home with a DVD of a woman giving birth to twins, which Fiona decided to ignore. She'd read about delivering twins. She didn't need to watch someone else's children being born, just her own.

As for that, her doctor had encouraged her to have a c-section, quite the normal procedure, particularly for women with small bodies pregnant with twins. She hadn't yet decided if she would take him up on his offer.

She found herself sleeping in the recliner more often than not, if only to be able to breathe more easily. If she counted miles, she knew Michael wasn't far away, but he could have been on the opposite side of the moon, because they had not spoken with each other, not once. It had been nearly three weeks since he had left the hospital, and she was as melancholy as she remembered being after Michael had left her in the beach house in Genoa so many years ago.

When she felt herself being lifted and carried in Michael's arms, she thought she was dreaming, but that he was too solid, too warm, his chin too scratchy. As Fiona turned to him, wrapping an arm around his neck, she felt her heart race. She opened her eyes as he lowered her to their bed in room that had been his in childhood.

He turned, solidly wedged a chair under the doorknob, and undressed, leaving his clothing on the chair. Fi removed the gown and the robe she'd been sleeping in and turned to be absorbed into him as he joined her on the bed. Bumping them apart, between them, were the unborn children they waited for.

"I heard you asked this bed to be moved here," he said between hungrily kissing every inch of her face. "I've missed you, Fi," he whispered against her cheek, burying his face in her neck, "I've missed you."

They shared sighs and greedy touches. Michael's voracious kisses took him on a journey from Fi's neck to her breasts and her distended abdomen where he reverently lowered his lips to kiss their children waiting to be born. Fiona smoothed her hands across his shoulders, touching his body gently, seeking scars, healing them with tender touches, and wanting more, so much more.

"Fi," he whispered as he turned to touch her face with his hands, and caress her abdomen, "We can't, you know we can't."

She held his face still and looked into his eyes. "I wanted to know, so I asked the doctor. It's okay. You won't hurt me or them."

He tried to smile, but that disappeared quickly.

"And it will make me ache if we don't," she said against his lips. She felt Michael's body tremble. And, then, she showed him they could.

A long while later, with her forehead touching his on the pillow they shared, she traced the new pink scar at his hairline where Larry had shot him. The bruising on his face had disappeared, but his eyes were weary and she could tell he had been frowning a lot. She traced the lines beside his mouth, while he slid his hand from her shoulder to her hip and back again.

She realized the bandages on his thigh were gone, as well. "You're stronger."

"Raines imported a physical therapist. And you're bigger. Doesn't this hurt, Fi?" Michael asked as he was caressing her baby belly. He grinned when he looked down and could see one small foot clearly visible from inside Fiona on her very round stomach. "Oh, wow." He leaned down and kissed small foot pushing her stomach from the inside. "I'm so sorry, Fi."

"You'd better not be sorry about these babies, Michael, because it's too late now."

He looked up and grinned. "You know that's not what I meant."

"I know." Fiona took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, they're awake now."

"Still think we're having boys?"

"Not a doubt," Fiona said before changing the subject. "How long do I get to keep you to myself?"

"Not long," he said. "All day today, tonight, maybe tomorrow, too. Sam and Jesse went to the UK to wrap up the last . . ."

Michael stopped speaking, turned and looked at Fiona squarely. His voice held a deadly serious tone. "If I start telling you about everything we're doing, that's all we'll talk about and I'm tired of it, Fi. I want to know about you, what's happening here, about the doctor visits, the babies . . . I don't want to fight the war here. Is that okay with you?"

Michael couldn't have known how sweet the balm his words were for Fiona's heart, even though she was eager to know the details he was so weary of dealing with.

"Yes." As she slid her palm against his cheek and touched his lips with hers, their thirst for each other renewed.

A solid knock at the bedroom door interrupted.

"Michael," Madeline said. "Mr. Raines is here."

Fiona pulled away from Michael's kiss. "That can't be good."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

"Tell Raines to wait," Michael said. Then he thought better of the tone of voice he'd used with his mother. "Please, Mom?"

"He says it's important, Michael."

"It always is."

Fiona could read his mind. "Give me a minute to use the bathroom, then you can have it. I'll go talk to him. Okay?"

"Fi, I'm-"

She shushed him and kissed him one more time. "I love you, Michael."

For this visit with Raines, Fi had worn her roomiest sundress. Unfortunately, it was pink. It was really hard to look to menacing, stern or credible when you're pregnant and wearing pink, she thought, even if you were armed. Really hard.

When she entered the kitchen she saw Madeline had seated him at the dining table, and had parked a cup of coffee in front of him.

Fi reached for a juice container in the fridge and Madeline handed her a glass.

"I told him I didn't think Michael was here, but he said he was."

Fiona glanced over her shoulder at Raines. "Michael has only been here a couple of hours. He's doing good. He'll come say hello when he's done in with his shower."

Madeline just shook her head. "I'm just tired of all this, so tired. I want it to end. This is like being a prisoner in my own house."

"A live prisoner is much better than a dead one," Raines said. When he heard them talking, he came over and brought his coffee cup along. "This is really good coffee. I was hoping you have some more, Mrs. Westen."

When both Fiona and Madeline turned to look at him, he apologized and tried to clarify which Mrs. Westen he was asking.

"No need," Maddie said, as she reached for the pot and refilled his cup.

Fiona took a second look at Raines, and studied him. His tone of voice, the words he chose bespoke apology instead of someone who only saw the mission, the job, the goal. She realized Raines had aged more than the three weeks it had been since she last saw him. Michael looked exhausted but healthier. Raines just looked stressed.

"You don't look like you've been sleeping any more than Michael," she said. "I wanted to thank you, though, for arranging the physical therapy. He's stronger, and that's good."

Raines actually seemed embarrassed by that, something Fiona also found interesting.

"Michael's taking a shower. He'll be out soon," she said. "Can you tell us what you're doing, maybe the big picture?"

Raines looked at Madeline, then Fiona. Two different levels of security clearance here. He was debating what to say when Michael came in and helped him out. "The short version is we're methodically working our way through the snake pits and removing fangs," he said, as he took a mug from the cupboard and poured himself some coffee.

He was barefooted, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He walked over to his mother and gave her a hug and a kiss on her cheek. "Hi, Ma."

Madeline wrapped her arm around him and gave him a hug.

Raines shook his head. "But one of our snakes still has teeth."

Michael turned and shared a troubled look with Raines.

"They're okay. Not happy, but okay. Can we talk? Outside?"

Michael kissed the top of his mother's head and pulled away, traded a look of concern with Fiona, and turned to leave the kitchen. He left his mug on the counter, found a pair of his ancient flip flops by the back door and put them on. Raines followed.

Fiona and Maddie moved to the dining room window. Fiona lifted the blinds by two fingers at her level, and Madeline did the same. Raines was explaining something to Michael, and Michael was shaking his head when he turned and made a gesture that seemed to say now, what? Raines was looking at the ground while he was talking.

Ena peeked around Fiona's shoulder to see what she and Madeline were looking at. "G'mornin' . . . well, look who got ta come home."

"Something went wrong, but apparently it's been fixed," Fiona deciphered. "And it looks like Raines is apologizing to Michael. I'll bet Sam and Jesse got caught in something they weren't expecting but they're okay, and he doesn't trust the security sweep of the house given all the stuff Jesse found here, so that's why he's here. Or he really has reason to apologize. Hmm. Wonder which?"

"Fiona, you can't possibly know that. You could be completely wrong," Madeline said.

"Maybe," she said.

"Ya gotta live in a war zone for a while before that kinda thing makes sense," Ena filled in.

"Well, I don't live in a war zone! I live in Miami!" Madeline said smartly, then turned away from the blinds.

"Ya do and ya don't," Ena said, "but your son and his friends and his wife are soldiers, and ya got guards at the front and back doors. The war came to ya, been comin' to ya for a while. They're tryin' to make it go away. Can't ya see that?"

Madeline spoke a vile four letter word, and Ena and Fiona both turned to look at her.

"Sorry," Madeline said without remorse.

"Aw, ya just gotta get used to goin' a few more days without 'em and ya'll be fine," Ena smiled. "'Tis hard, breakin' an old habit, any old habit."

"You're doing good, Madeline," Fiona added. "You are."

Fiona saw, but neither Maddie or her mum heard Michael return to the house. She'd watched Sean emerge from the garage and shake hands with both Raines and Michael before having a brief discussion Fiona couldn't interpret. Raines nodded in agreement, shook Sean's hand again and laughed. Then he stopped and talked to one of the omnipresent guards stationed at the rear of Madeline's property before he left.

"And what would all you health nuts know about that?" Madeline protested. "I love smoking."

"No, you don't. When Nate and I were kids you used to light up and say 'I hate this. I've got to stop this.' Remember, Mom?" Michael said as he retrieved his coffee.

He caught the question from Fiona midair and smiled. "I've got today and tonight. But I need to go back tomorrow morning."

She smiled, too. "Leave time." She liked her mother's analogy, and appreciated the military perspective she added for Madeline's sake. She only hoped Maddie would give it more than two seconds of passing thought.

"Yeah. So, Ma, got yogurt?" Michael wondered as he opened the fridge door.

"Too much of it!" Maddie explained. "Do you know they all eat it?"

"It's good for you," Michael said. "You should-"

"Michael, when I want advice on what I should do, I promise to ask you first."

With that, Madeline left the room, and slammed the door to her bedroom so hard the glassware in her cupboards shook.

Ena sighed. "Lot of fun around here, Michael. Your mum's upset because she's not puffin' away, and your wife's a complainin' all the time about bein' pregnant, and Sean's deserted me, hidin' out the garage hammerin' on stuff."

He looked down at Fiona. "Really?"

"It's true," Fiona agreed. "All of it. Mum's the only one in good spirits."

"That's hard to believe," Michael observed.

Ena Glenanne reacted immediately. She turned and jabbed a finger into his chest. "McBride, I can ruin yer good mood, if I've a mind to," she said without a trace of humor.

"Yes, ma'am."

Fiona laughed out loud at Michael's chastised expression as he watched her mother leave the kitchen by the opposite door.

"Aren't you glad you missed this?"

He put his yogurt cup on the counter and swooped her into his arms. "No, ma'am."  
>Then he kissed her.<p>

#

#

#

One o'clock in the afternoon arrived and Raines was a good as his promise.

A body guard who looked like he could have been one of Fiona's brothers arrived to accompany Sean to a hardware store and a lumber yard.

Two young women, casually dressed, but highly skilled and well armed, arrived to take Madeline and Ena to aqua aerobics, something Ena indicated she had been wanting to try since Madeline told her about it.

And if they wanted to have dinner out, they were planning on accompanying them there, too.

But, first, there was a wardrobe issue. Ena was not in a mindset to borrow a swimsuit from Fiona's collection, even though they wore the same size. "I need somethin' with a lot more coverage. A lot more."

"I know just the place," Madeline said. The prospect of the outing had restored her good humor, Ena's good humor and Sean's, too. Shopping, aqua aerobics and dinner out. It was heavenly, she said.

Raines arranged for the additional security help, but only for a half day, so the guards around the house stayed on their regular rotation schedule.

After they left, and the house was empty, Fiona walked over to where Michael was checking something on a laptop he'd brought with him. "Thank you for doing this for them," she said. "The past three weeks have seemed like three months."

He finished typing something, and looked up. "I would love to take credit, but it was Raines idea after he talked to Sean this morning. He seemed to be reading the atmosphere in here correctly, too." He shut down the machine and turned around and reached for what once was Fiona's waist, using his arms to pull her into him.

"And you? Are you really complaining all the time about being pregnant?" He kissed her baby belly and turned his face so his ear was pressed against her. "They're not talking yet."

"Yes, they are." She smiled and pulled his hand. In the bedroom she opened a drawer to what had been Michael's childhood dresser and took out a stethoscope. "Do you know you can buy these at drug stores and uniform stores?"

She sat on the end of the bed and put it around Michael's neck. "Now listen."

He sat next to her and adjusted the ear pieces and put the chestpiece on Fiona's baby belly after she raised her dress so fabric wouldn't be the barrier. After a minute, he looked up, his eyes dark with awe. "That is - "

"I know."

Michael seemed incapable of words except for ones Fi didn't want to hear. "I'm sor-"

She put her fingers across his mouth. "Don't get a rut with saying that, Michael. I would be lying if I told you I didn't miss you, and especially now because I do, but if I'd listened to what you were saying months ago, maybe this would be closer to being over now. I really want, no, I really hope, you can be here when they're born, but if you're not, I'd underst-"

It was Michael's turn to quiet Fiona with a tender kiss. "I'm not leaving the country, and I'm not leaving Miami. Raines didn't argue. If you have to go to the hospital for any reason, I'll be there. I promise, Fi. No matter what."

He stood, took his gun from the back of his jeans and slid it under the pillow. Fiona removed hers from her leg holster and handed it to him.

"I'm glad you have this, but . . . "

There was genuine worry in Michael's face, but she'd learned a lesson. Larry wasn't going to catch her unarmed again. She was not about to allow her unborn children to be harmed, not when she was perfectly capable of protecting them.

"I know. I wish I didn't, either, and the doctor is not crazy about the leg holster, but he really didn't argue much, once he realized why. Just a sec-"

She reached into one of the drawers and pulled out a t-shirt, then removed her sundress and pulled the shirt on.

Michael grinned. "Hard Rock Cafe? I remember that shirt."

"It's very comfortable to sleep in. Your mom didn't get rid of anything you left here, and I'm glad."

They adjusted the pillows and lay facing each other, talking. Fiona filled Michael in on what would happen if she went into labor early, and told him she wanted to avoid the c-section the doctor had recommended and why.

Fiona laughed when Michael told her he'd complained about abdominal muscle pain following physical therapy and the therapist had told him he was probably having sympathy pains for his wife's pregnancy. "Since you've been pregnant, Fi, I've been a mess."

"Since I've been pregnant, you've been knocked in the head and shot three times and have had two surgeries. I think that's your problem."

"We'll have to keep track then, the next time you're pregnant."

She smiled. "Next time, we will."

Michael remembered something else. "You're going to have to talk to Sam, too, because he swears he's gaining baby weight like you are. I'm not sure having him take you to those doctor visits was a good idea."

"Tell him fewer beers will fix his baby belly problem."

#

#

#

When Sean arrived back at the house with his hardware supplies and wood, he was surprised to find the house lights off. He asked one of the guards if anyone was home, and guard reported Michael and Fiona were inside. They were. When Sean opened the bedroom door, he found them asleep on the bed, facing each other. He closed to door quietly, and went into the living room.

He was happy about Fiona and Michael having babies, and happy to be making a cradle for them, but he missed being home. He missed his brothers, his friends. He didn't miss the unrest, and didn't like the fact that it had brought him here, and he didn't like the moment he realized his sister would never return to Ireland now. He knew it the day she married Michael. He just hoped she would find a way to come back and bring her children. That thought made him wonder if it might be time for the Glenannes to relocate to a more peaceful part of their island.

He got up and adjusted Madeline's air conditioning to a lower temperature. Miami's heat and humidity had no long term appeal for a man who called 70 degrees the hottest day of the year while people in Miami called that a cold winter day.

#

#

#

Michael picked up Fiona's snow globe from Raines' desk and shook it. It was the one she used to hide the thumb drive. Welcome to Hell, Michigan, the raised letters on the globe base said. Inside, next to a dancing devil was a small sign with icicles hanging from it said "Hell Freezes Over!" When shaken, snow fell on the flames and the devil.

His mother had found the thing at a rummage sale and had given it to Fiona when she first came to Miami and she learned Fi had a particular fascination for snow globes. At one time the globe had a music box, but it had been removed, leaving enough room under the base to insert a thumb drive. Raines had been thrilled when he finally had his hands on the drive. Michael's theory that the drive contained more information than originally revealed had been proven true.

"When we're done, this comes home with me," Michael said as Raines entered his office. He was flipping through a pile of datasheets, looking for one name in particular.

"And here he is," Raines said. "Justin Walsh-'94 to '97. The sonofabitch used to be one of ours. Algorithmic engineer. You were right, Westen."

Michael grimaced. "And he wants it back, because he originally decrypted it, which means he probably was or is working with the guy Jesse used to decrypt it for you."

Raines sat down in a chair in his temporary Miami office and spun it around to face the ocean view. "He's the link between Barrett, Vaughn, Management, Larry and everyone else in this mess. You all got it right. If you wanted in on the auction, you had to put up five million, so when the drive disappeared, Walsh did the same thing and took the all cash. I'm betting the Russians and the Arabs want him bad. At least we know he's still trying to find the drive."

"Good to know you agree, Raines," Jesse said. "Why does it take you so long to believe us? To listen to us?"

Raines spun the chair back around. "That's all I've been doing-listening to you."

"Yeah, well, except for when you didn't and nearly got us killed in London," Sam muttered. "Damned freakin' Irishman."

"Scotland Yard took him, so that should put an end to O'Neill's escapes."

"Heard that one before. Twice," Sam grumbled.

Raines summarized. "So this is who we need to find yet: Jesse's decrypter, Walsh, Mark Sweeny, Management and Larry. Vaughn's been neutralized since he's been relocated to a federal Security Housing Unit."

"And that's my tax dollars at work," Sam said. "How long is this gonna take?"

Michael had been clarifying his focus on something else. He turned and looked back at the small group of peacemakers. "Why would Walsh want the drive unless . . . ?"

". . . there's still something on it we don't have." Jesse filled in. "Dammit."

"Raines, you need-" Michael started to say.

"Yeah, yeah. We've still got some snakes inside the CIA."

"We need a trap." Sam said. Jesse and Michael looked at him and smiled.

"Yeah," Jesse said. "Yeah."

"Where's the drive now?" Michael asked.

Raines went to a wall safe he'd had installed a month ago in the temporary Miami office, and slid the panel back to reveal a retinal scanner. The door swung open and revealed absolutely nothing. "It's gone."

"Shit." The word was repeated in triplicate.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

"Dammit, that's impossible!" Raines' face turned red, and he clenched his fists.

"All biometric locks can be bypassed," Jesse explained matter of factly.

"We just had this thing installed. It's state of the art!"

"Au contraire." Jesse's grin and tone were sardonic. "If it was state of the art, you'd have some combination of a biometric scan and authentication code, or double that. Two different scans, two authentication codes for the same person. You wear contacts, Raines? Ever had a detached retina? See a ophthalmologist recently? Your iris is in a digital database, man, and you're hunting a computer nerd who obviously has hacking skills."

"I know I'm hunting a decryption expert! That's, that's-"

"Someone's watching you, Raines. How does it feel? You can't see the enemy, but he knows all about you and how to hurt you." Sam lounged against the conference table and stirred the pot.

"We need to focus on the problem, Sam," Michael said quietly.

"Mikey, he just got a itty bitty taste of what these sneaky bastards have been doing to us for years."

Raines paced, clenching and unclenching his fists. "It's like they're two steps ahead of us, and -"

With that Raines stopped and started looking around the room. Jesse and Michael fell instantly into agreement, and Sam was right behind them.

Jesse held up a finger and dismissed himself from the room to return a minute later. He held up the scanner and swept the room. It led him straight to a thumb drive connected to a USB port on the laptop on Raines desk.

Jesse removed the device, pulled off the cover to reveal an audio bug. He opened a hard metal case and dropped it inside and clipped it shut.

"Killed the cootie," Sam said. "Now who planted it?"

Raines looked at Michael. "What now?"

"Jesse?"

Just because they'd located one, didn't mean there wasn't another device. Jesse started sweeping the room in methodical grid patterns. When he was done, it was clear Raines' office had been well and truly bugged with audio and optical devices in the usual places-light switches, outlets, lamps, behind wall hangings, window latches.

"Where have we seen this before?" Jesse asked as he sealed the last device inside the frequency blocking aluminum case.

"They've heard our game plan." Raines sat down in his chair with a tired thump. "What next?"

"We're looking for a drive that we've turned into text twice, and now we think there's something else on it. Tell me one of your geeks made a copy of it this time," Michael said. "Tell me that thumb drive in Fi's snow globe wasn't the only copy."

"Until 15 minutes ago, I would have said it wasn't the only copy, but now . . ."

"Everything leads back here," Jesse said with disgust. "How many times do we have to look at this picture to see what's in front of our eyes?"

"I hand picked these people," Raines said. "They're my most trusted staff members."

"And you believed everything in my burn file, and not a word of it was true," Michael said without anger.

"You need a new plan, Raines. Or you need to turn this operation over to us," Sam said.

"Are you crazy, Axe?" Raines asked.

"No. He's not," Michael said. He started a slow pace across the floor. Raines frowned at him, but Jesse and Sam knew what he was debating with himself in silence. Finally, Sam just spit it out.

"We need her, Mikey. We'll park her little butt in the reclining baby chair, move her next to a bathroom and you'll keep an eye on her while me and Jesse get to be the legs for this operation. We'll import the doc, bring that bed she likes so much, whatever the girl wants, but we need her."

Michael held up his hands, and was shaking his head no. "Guys, she's pregnant with twins! She, she can't . . . she can't - " He blew out a long, shaky breath of air and put his hands on his hips and looked down at the floor.

"You know all about that, Mikey," Sam said, "but her brain didn't stop working because you got her pregnant. If the math is right, she's at 30 weeks and has 10 more to go, give or take four weeks cause she's waiting for twins."

Michael ignored Sam, stalked out of Raines office and slammed the door behind him.

Jesse turned to Sam and grinned. "Well done. You paid attention on those doctor visits, didn't you?"

Raines looked at them like they'd lost their minds. "We can't bring in a pregnant operative, much less one with IRA ties!"

Sam shrugged. "Why not? We only got half our team here because that guy who's here isn't really here, and it ain't got nothing to do with recovering from surgery. Half of him is someplace else. Instead of being down a half, we'll be up two if both of them are here."

"He'll get distracted," Raines said.

"No," Jesse said, "he won't. He wants this over more than you do, and I want my life back. Maybe they do, too."

When the door opened and Michael came back into the room, storm clouds were riding on his shoulders. "Okay. I need to go get her. This is not phone call."

Raines got up. "Okay, fine. You people are going to be the death of me."

"We're not going to shoot you," Sam drawled, "but I can't say the same for your most trusted staff members."

As they left, Sam turned to Jesse and winked. "Once again, brother, old age and treachery overcome youth and skill."

Jesse laughed but sobered quickly. "You know we're putting her in harm's way if it turns out . . . "

"I know. But I figure Mikey isn't going to let her out of his sight."

"Good point."

#

#

#

"Raines, let's look at that list of people your college recruiters are talking to. There ought to be someone who's made it through your deep background checks who wants to work here. You want a algorithmic engineer who's patriotic, goal oriented and motivated and in return -"

"Got it, Mrs. Westen." Raines mock saluted her. "We'll have an early hire in and scholarship or student loan repayment exchange for someone we know doesn't have a dog in this fight."

Michael hid a grin and continued looking through his patchwork file of faces and names of staff members Raines hand picked because he trusted them. "She can be bossy sometimes."

"Westen, I used to think you were the biggest pain in the ass I'd ever met until . . ."

"Until you invited me to join your merry band. Why thank you, Mr. Raines," Fiona said sweetly. "Now, how soon can we get one of your vetted grad students in here?"

Raines had to give them credit. They'd accomplished a lot in a very short amount of time. They operated by their own rules, not his, but he couldn't complain even though that's exactly what he'd done.

They'd already tracked down Sweeny who was now in federal custody and located the guy who'd stolen the weapons from the car heroines had left at the military facility for Michael and Max to use, which ultimately led to Max's death. He was also in federal custody, conveniently located near Sweeny's cell so they could listen in on their interactions. Now, they were closing in on finding Jesse's specialist who had decrypted the thumb drive for him last year.

Fiona had found three points to refocus on, points others had dismissed earlier as time-wasting activities. Now Raines could see why they wanted her here so much. One of her ideas had led straight to Sweeny.

Westen had flagged the people on Raines staff worthy of being interviewed, but they were not anxious to tip their hand on that yet. As long as rats thought the ship wouldn't sink, they'd be fine, if they were cautious, Fiona contended.

When they got ready to close in on his staff leaks, the wanted a fool-proof set-up so the rats leading them back to nest and the Rat King, which was either Larry, who was Fi's nomination, or Management, who was Raines'.

Michael withheld his opinion on that, which worried Raines.

#

#

#

Jesse had made sure the file was waiting for her when she got to Raines' temporary offices in Miami following Michael's surprise request for her help.

Michael didn't call ahead, he just showed up with Raines, looking for Fi, which immediately alerted Madeline that something was wrong. Two very brief conversational moments later, Madeline and Ena both declared that Michael had lost his mind. And Fiona, too, when she'd agreed to help them.

The deciding factor for Fiona was Michael's confusion.

And his confusion said so much. It was etched in worry lines on his face as he explained why he wanted her to come help them. It was the push and the pull, the come, the don't come, the please help, the please don't help, the I don't want you hurt, the I won't let them hurt you, the I miss you, the I miss us, the I want this to go away. All those mixed messages had her packing her bag and trading one place of confinement for another.

At least here, she could see and sleep with her husband every night or some of every night. He seemed driven, and she understood, and part of what she understood had come from Michael himself in the words she'd immersed herself in.

It had been twelve days since she'd read it, but the words from the transcript of the debriefing Michael had given Raines while he was still in the hospital about his and Max's trip to Miami were chilling. She saw his words as ink on paper, but interpreted, hearing his voice and listening with her heart. Michael's words had become stuck in her subconscious when she was working on something else. When she was a rest and her mind was free to roam, his words were there, right in front of her, telling the story again and again.

It wasn't the icy air conditioning that made her shiver, it was Michael's description of Larry. What he had said. What he had done and how he had done it. She knew the next time they encountered him, and she was certain there would be a next time, he would kill Michael instead of maiming him.

And worse, she had an overwhelming sense that time was running out for them, but she couldn't pinpoint why, and was puzzled as to why she couldn't.

One of the things Sam discovered was Mark Sweeney's connection to Larry. It was Sweeney who had stolen the briefcase from Barrett after the fatal crash that had nearly taken Michael's life, as well, when he'd grabbed the steering wheel of Barrett's vehicle, causing it to flip. Inside the briefcase was the thumb drive which Justin Walsh had stolen from Sweeney when he tried to locate a decryption expert.

Years earlier, Walsh had left government service for the private section, but he couldn't turn down the biggest score of his life when realized how powerful the information was. Knowledge truly was power. Without his former CIA employee status, he would not have understood the significance of the information on the drive.

It was Sweeny who had bugged Madeline's neighbor Laura's house, and had taken photos of them. That had led her to wonder about who had taken those photos of Michael when he first returned to Miami and was trying to make sense of why a burn notice had been issued on him. Since Bly disavowed it, it seemed to smack of Management's involvement. Was management associated with Sweeny, too, Fiona wondered.

She sighed. Their trusty band of warriors had misdirected itself several times, but they always seemed to be able to get back on track. It was Jesse's interrogation of Sweeny that revealed the extent of his decade-long connection to Larry. Like Michael, Larry and Sweeney once worked together as a legitimate CIA two-man team. Was that why Michael frustrated Larry so much? Because he hadn't fallen back in line the way Sweeney had?

And then there was the question she hadn't heard yet: Who assembled the information on the drive? They had so focused on retrieving it they had, from the beginning, neglected to ask who had created it.

Like the flickering lightning in the distance, there were glimpses of the coming storm Fiona knew was coming.

When Michael found her, she was deep in thought, sitting cross legged on a couch, holding her baby belly with both hands.

She was a beautiful Buddha looking out the window to the Atlantic's ionized air and light storm that slid in and out of dark clouds touching the end of the horizon.

"What'd your doctor have to say about week 32?" He took the seat on the couch and faced her then slid his hand along the outside of her thigh, absent mindedly caressing silken soft skin.

She hadn't heard him come into the room. "Oh, I'm doing good. The babies are moving around. One of them is head down, but not the other. The both need to squirm the same direction so I can avoid a c-section. We've got plenty of time, but I'm not sure Dr. Prentice will want to be my doctor after this," she said with a small smile. "They did a thorough search of him, his nurse and their bags again before they got up here. I don't think he's enjoying that as much as he likes that CIA hall pass badge."

"I thought all things CIA intrigued your doctor, Fi."

"I think he's outgrown that. I have."

Michael leaned back and closed his eyes. "I think we all have."

Fiona glanced away from the horizon to look at him. "We all have?"

But Michael couldn't respond because he'd closed his eyes and had fallen asleep.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

It wasn't their bed. It wasn't the loft. But, it was a comfortable and suitable substitution, and somewhat of a pleasant surprise since Raines acquired an upscale luxury hotel mattress and bed for their use. There were no such sleeping arrangements in his office, nor for the one Jesse and Sam shared.

Fiona contended Raines acquired the bed because he felt some guilt for not believing Michael, for restricting them to his location, and because he'd coerced Michael into leaving the hospital much too early. To a degree, the peace offering had been effective. She was slightly more pleasantly inclined toward Raines, but despite the bed's comfort, it couldn't displace the discomfort of the entire situation they all found themselves in.

Progress had slowed. They were unable to move forward as quickly as they wanted and no one was dealing with that well. Irritation was high; tempers were short.

Earlier in the day, Michael had made an offhand comment about needing to look another direction which earned him a bite of Raines' increasingly ill temper and a terse comment about the location of various team members' necks in relationship to an oversight committee guillotine.

"If this fails, I'll be fired, or hung out to dry or sent someplace with a salary but zero responsibilities, and the rest of you will face a federal inquiry. Westen, you in particular, don't want that."

"Someone from the CIA has threatened me for the past five years, Raines. Not news," Michael shot back.

It was a conversation Michael returned to several times. It was the past and present. Would it be the future, too?

Raines' temporary headquarters was in a nondescript office building, purposely located far away from other CIA facilities in the metro Miami area. Although he'd made a courtesy call to the station chief, there was no contact by design. Raines' operation was known to only a handful of people, the fewer the better.

An insurance company once inhabited the building, now empty except for Raines' lair. There were three separate areas which formerly had served as executive offices that had full bath facilities, and those office areas were utilized by Raines, Michael, Fi, Sam and Jesse 24/7. Four guards rotated on and off duty, and technicians from the central facility appeared for support issues. As for food, MREs sufficed, and beverages had been supplied before they arrived, to eliminate traffic in and out of the facility.

After Raines' safe was breeched, Jesse had taken several precautions for all of them. Beyond the building security, one by one, their rooms had been swept for listening and optical snooping devices, and fisheye peep holes were installed. Simple hotel security door stop alarms, door jammers and lockjaw security devices for the deadbolt locks inside each room were also added. His final security measure was to alarm the windows, so any breach from the roof or exterior would alert them.

And not a one among them thought this was too much.

#

#

#

This evening, Raines had been recalled to D.C., and Sam and Jesse had been requested to accompany him by Representative Cowley. Michael and Fiona had been left with their armed guards. They were both weary, but once they were in bed waiting for sleep to overtake them, neither could find the place of rest they wanted.

"You're thinking too loud," Michael whispered after listening to Fiona's restless movements for what seemed an hour.

She kissed his shoulder, and turned to see his face in the darkened room. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"But you always have." His voice was soft as he turned into her, slid his fingers into her hair, pulling her head to his. He caressed her hip and gently stoked the long muscles of her back before turning to gently push her deeper into her pillow with a sweetly tender kiss. As she turned her face to his, her voice was soft. "Michael . . ."

He smiled against her cheek. "Intimate restraint." He repeated the words Father Hector had given them prior to their wedding, but relied on what Fiona's doctor had to say earlier in the day about what to expect next, and what he should be alert to as time grew nearer for the boys to make their appearance. "This time, your doctor would agree."

"I wasn't asking," Fiona said.

"I know. Just reminding myself, I guess."

Fiona sighed deeply but and returned each of his gentle touches with one of hers. "Mmmhmm."

He realized they were changing, and their relationship was changing, too. It was no longer only the physical that brought peace and pleasure, but nurturing unselfish love that was shaping them into a spiritual whole. Michael moved to give her more room, but she curled into him. He held her close and between whispered words of his love for her, sent a silent prayer for protection for her and their children. When at last they slept, their rest was peaceful, dreamless.

But sleep without trouble had alluded them for years.

#

#

#

"Fi, Fi." Michael whispered. "Everything is okay." He had been awake, mulling over something she had said earlier in the day, noticing the first faint glimmer of sunrise, when he felt her move restlessly against him, heard the change in her breathing. He'd tried to comfort her with gentle caresses into returning to sleep, but that had proved futile when, as quickly as she could, she reached for her revolver and sat straight up in bed. She was aiming at an unknown enemy in the same way he had done not so many months ago. He realized they were both being haunted by the same adversary, waking or sleeping, and knew his reaction to this was not one of frustration, but of anger.

He took the Ruger from her hands and put it back under her pillow before wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "We're okay, Fi. You're okay."

Fiona had become aware of what she had done, but before she could tell him what she was seeing, her body sent a familiar, urgent message. She hurried out of bed for a quick trip to the bathroom and returned moments later. She sat next to where he lay, crossed her legs and assumed her comfortable Buddha pose. "I hate this."

"Things you hate. Hmm. That could be a long list. What's first?"

"Bathroom trips are at the top of the list now, but that's temporary. I hate the uncertainty of this all. I hate waking up knowing I can't protect you or the boys." She held her baby belly with both hands. They were also awake and they were moving.

For a few moments, they were distracted by their movements. An elbow appeared, or a knee and then disappeared. Fiona took a deep breath and watched and felt a rapid movement as if one of them was using her as a punching bag, while the other stretched. She took another deep breath and sat up straighter after a particularly energetic burst of activity. Michael's bemused expression softened as he moved to put both of his hands on either side of her belly and kissed it. Their babies quieted within seconds.

"I hope that works as well when your boys are out here as well as in there," Fiona said.

"They could be girls," he smiled up at her. "Your mother thinks so."

"Don't try to divert me, Michael. I know this trick."

"Learned it from you, Fi." But he sat up and faced her, all teasing aside. "I have the same fear-that I can't protect you or them, or anyone we love and care about."

She fit her palms against his. "Have you noticed we keep traveling down the same road here? Trying to figure out who is connected to whom and how, and as soon as we know that, we end up back at the same spot? Don't you think that's significant? I do."

"Yes," he said quietly. "I was thinking about what you said yesterday, that we should have been asking who created the NOC list. If you run black ops, you'd need a system to identify whose skills to use where and for what. It has to be Management."

"Or it could be someone we have yet to identify, but I'm betting the part of the list that never got decrypted was the internal network, the one inside the CIA," Fiona said.

He smiled. That was what he loved about this woman, her ability to be with him, thought for thought, idea for idea, step for step all the time. At the same he recognized the quiet voice in his neocortex that told him his logic was faulty. "Exactly what I was thinking. I bet Raines' most trusted employee list matches the last part of what's on that drive."

"If it was an accurate copy," Fi said.

"Let's hope your whiz kid is doing his job."

"He's in D.C. with Raines. We'll know soon enough."

#

#

#

Raines' expression was a grim as the sky was grey. He, Sam and Jesse were sitting in a military transport waiting for a thunderstorm to pass and for their flight to get clearance to Miami.

The brief trip had been productive, as had Fiona's idea to cherry pick a CIA recruit who was a whiz algorithmic engineer eager for employment in the CIA. That had been exactly what was needed. It had taken Raines' new hire 22 hours to work his way through the multiple layers of encryption protecting the final portion of the thumb drive data.

Fortunately, it was the same data that had been copied, saved and retained by the tech specialist who had decrypted the files for Jesse a year earlier. They were the same files Raines had used with Michael's assistance to take down the bulwark of the quasi-governmental black ops unit that had targeted Michael and his friends.

Jesse's contact had been cleared despite facts that initially indicated the decrypter may have once been aligned with Walsh who'd stolen the thumb drive and tried to auction it. It had taken Raines' to locate him since he had changed agency affiliations. Thus, part of conspiracy theory sixty-two went out the window. When he was finally located, Jesse had asked for the research to be pulled again for access, it was accomplished as quickly and smoothly as any other high priority request would have been handled.

The files had been hidden within the NOC list, brilliantly buried in plain sight. Raines' new whiz, a baby-faced former Air Force techno-geek, was awed by the skill of the person who had hidden the list within the list, had made it seem invisible, and then locked it tight.

The tech who decrypted the file the previous year had missed the hidden files completely, something Raines' new whiz gleefully said he could have done just as easily if he hadn't been directed to look for it.

Raines was less impressed with the glee.

While Raines hovered in the background, watching his new recruit knock down encrypted barrier after encrypted barrier to the information, Sam, accompanied by Jesse, completed his report to Rep. Cowley who shared a significant and new piece of information with them: Dead Larry Sizemore Garber had attempted to contact Simon Escher, who unlike Vaughn, was held in a secure prison facility outside of the U.S. He had left, and CIA operatives in the region had been unable to detain Garber.

They had already linked Larry to O'Neill's prison escape. Now, as Sam would also discover, Larry had once been associated with Simon during several CIA ops, while both were still legitimate operators. Since they were at Langley, Raines had pulled as many records as possible involving Simon, Management, Vaughn, Larry and Michael. He and Jesse had worked in the background on that project, matching intersecting activities. When Sam joined them, the search gained speed.

As Raines watched, his new recruit removed complex coded barriers, one after the other, to reveal what they had come to believe existed: The much valued NOC list contained a separate list of those currently employed inside government at the highest levels who cooperated with Barrett, Management, Vaughn and Larry.

Dates, places, activities, dollars paid, the account numbers where those dollars were sent, everything anyone needed to arrest a sizeable number of Americans for treason was there. Jesse's assessment of the list after they had stolen it to prevent Walsh from auctioning remained the most accurate of descriptions: it was the hottest of hot potatoes.

Raines then knew who created the list shortly before he began working black ops for the CIA. It could have only been someone with access: Management.

The ball had started rolling again. Raines' superiors, took the reins at Langley, and sent him back with Jesse and Sam to Miami to arrest the two staff members Raines had trusted but shouldn't have.

Waiting for take-off, both Sam and Jesse were foot-tapping energized nervous bundles.

"Could you two just calm down? We'll be in Miami soon enough," Raines sniped.

"Maybe," Sam muttered. "You don't really have a good track record on that. Last time, Max died and Mike got damned close to it. And you won't let us contact Mike to warn him. Not fair, Raines. Definitely not fair."

"Axe, I'm going to really glad when this operation ends and I won't have to talk to you any more," Raines growled.

Jesse got up to move away from Raines. "Yeah, and the reason this operation is ending is because of Sam, Mike and Fi and me. You needed us, remember? A little gratitude is in order to my way of thinking, Raines. Just a little."

Sam got up and followed Jesse to the back of the plane.

#

#

#

"Any word?" Fi asked, brows knit together.

"Not yet."

Fiona shook her head. "I just have a bad feeling."

"That might be from the two chocolate bars you just ate," Michael commented dryly. "Raines is going to be annoyed when he finds out you raided his stash."

"His fault. He didn't eat them before he left, and I wouldn't have this craving if I wasn't pregnant, so it's your fault, too."

Michael shook his head. "The logic of pregnancy."

She shoved at his sore shoulder.

"Ouch."

"That was a sexist remark."

He looked over at her and smiled. "If you can't make a sexist remark to your pregnant wife, you can you make it to?"

One of their boys took that moment to give her a sturdy, breath-stealing kick, and she held one palm over the tiny terrorist inside her womb.

Michael smiled. "See. The boys agree with me."

Fiona laughed then.

They were working in the main office. After their conversation this morning, they disconnected the computers they were using from the internal network. Sharing resources was one thing; but there was no sense in giving a traitor on staff access to their current area of interest.

Precaution was the watchword, and both of them sensed all was not right in their world. Michael had taken a few extra moments to add a holster, and a knife sheath after dressing.

Fiona also had taken an extra precaution this morning, matching a lightweight nylon concealed carry vest for her Walther to her T-shirt and maternity pants. When she checked her appearance in the mirror, she was satisfied the vest had taken care of her problem of quick access with a baby belly without revealing she was armed.

Before they left their room for Raines' office, they looked at each other and smiled. "I hope we're just sharing an extreme case of paranoia," Michael observed solemnly.

Fiona agreed silently.

Michael had been investigating banking practices for three of Raines' employees, when the sound of gunshots in the hall brought them to their feet. Michael pulled his .45, and checked the peep hole on the door. It didn't reveal a thing.

"Stay here, and lock this behind me and do not leave this room," he ordered Fiona as he opened the door left.

Under different circumstances she would have followed, but not when her babies were so active, and advanced pregnancy had changed her natural agility into cumbersome movement.

When Michael didn't return within five minutes, she debated, then used her common sense and called Jesse, Sam and Raines' phones. When none of them answered, she called Sean and told him he and one of the body guards at Maddie's house needed to get to her location and why.

She called Sam and Jesse's phones again and left messages this time. And then she waited and watched the time pass on her watch, while fighting a battle with herself to see what was happening. The entire time she waited she fought her inner desire to open the door and see what was happening. She now fully understood the phrase, climbing the walls, because had she been able to, she would have. Twenty-five minutes passed before she heard her brother knocking on the door.

"Open up, Fi. Michael's okay."

She opened the door to find her brother sweat-soaked and out of breath.

"We called the cops; it was the fastest thing to do. Michael said Raines' will be pissed but that's too bad. He's got two men down. They're on their way to the hospital."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

He was sitting on the couch in the dark, sipping very, very slowly from one of Sam's beer bottles. He didn't want an alcohol haze, not that one beer would do that. Mostly, he didn't want anything dulling his senses. What he needed was pain relief for his shoulder and his thigh. He figured a beer would do it. If there was an aspirin or pain reliever anywhere, he couldn't find it. Ask Fi? Bad idea times ten.

She was in bed, sleeping fitfully. It was more than just the latter stages of her pregnancy. The demons running around his brain when he slept lived with her, too. He could see the differences in her movements and tell when the boys were fussing and when demons were the disturbance in her force.

Boys. She was so utterly convinced they were boys, he'd started calling them boys, too. Was he going to argue with her? Nope. He wondered if she'd be disappointed with girls, but when it came to Fi's intuition, she was rarely wrong.

There was something that had long irritated him: the fact that she was rarely wrong.

Once she'd told someone he couldn't focus unless a multinational conspiracy was trying to ruin his life. She might be right about that, because currently he couldn't focus on anything beyond today, but he knew he needed to. Married men with pregnant wives did that, didn't they? They figured out how to support their families. Take care of them.

Michael looked at his wedding band, tapped it on the bottle, and took another sip. A wedding ring was not something a spy wore. Except Max had.

He and Fi discussed this before they were married. They told each other they wouldn't wear one; it would keep them safer. That presumed he would always be as spy and she'd run guns, didn't it? He'd hit a wall in the carefully formed belief system he developed during more than two decades of service to his country. Things changed. He had changed, hadn't he? When did that happen?

Yesterday he was a lone operator who had a on and off relationship with one woman and was estranged from his family. Today, tonight, tomorrow he was going to have his own family. He was a son, a brother, and uncle. A friend. He took another sip from the bottle and tapped his ring on the glass. From the minute Fi had put the ring on his finger, it struck him that he didn't want to take it off, and he didn't understand why, and he wanted to.

He'd started this internal journey the morning after they were married. He hadn't traveled much farther beyond recognizing being married to Fiona was the best idea he'd ever had, and he couldn't figure out how to communicate that to her.

Or live up to it.

He spun the ring on is finger. My heart, indeed. The Gaelic words had been her suggestion for their rings. Perfect words, hidden in plain sight. Fi had removed her ring because something Larry said when he was kidnapping her. He didn't know they were married. But Management knew.

He could figure that one, but had to wonder about Sam's current theory that they'd killed each other.

Michael yawned and stretched his shoulder; the plates and screws in his clavicle repair still ached. It had been a very, very long day. His thoughts were muddled and bleeding into each other. His ability to keep them neatly compartmentalized crumbled. It was annoying. Confusing. Irritating.

The scene he found this morning was confusing, too. When he went to investigate the source of the gunshots, it had taken him a few seconds to sort out who was who. He knew it was time for a shift change. The two guards sent to relieve the two who worked all night came prepared to eliminate them; their weapons had silencers.

What the two with silencers hadn't counted on was the alertness level of the other two guards. When Michael arrived, he saw them down, wounded but defending themselves. But the other two appeared to have some kind of disagreement, and had started firing on each other. When they spotted Michael, they aimed at him, but he managed to put both of them down and had disarmed them by the time the cops and EMTs arrived.

The two guards Michael injured were currently held in prison hospital, while the other two had been taken to the local hospital where Raines reported them to be in critical condition.

It wasn't until Raines, Sam and Jesse returned that Michael and Fiona learned both men were on Raines' newly decrypted list of traitorous CIA operatives and were about to be arrested.

"Someone knows you have that list," Michael told Raines. "It's not the secret you think it is. Hell, does the CIA have secrets anymore? I can't tell."

And somehow Larry was involved, Michael told him, but of course Raines disagreed with that assessment, another sticking point for Fi, Sam and Jesse.

"The guy just never goes away without a reason," Sam told him. "He's been connected this whole time. Don't you see it?"

No. Raines didn't. The fact that Larry was no where to be found was the logic Raines used to promote his view, and there had been no way to change his mind. Raines had left, disgusted with everything that had happened, intent arresting the other operatives the list had revealed.

Michael took another sip of the beer. He realized he was battle weary. He'd experienced this as a Ranger, and too often after lengthy and dangerous missions as a covert operative. As he'd come to understand in recent years, he and his brother and mother had also known the same kind of stress with his physically and emotionally abusive father.

At times, stress kept you sharp, alert to changes. Now wasn't that time.

Max had told him he was in trouble, and he knew it. He knew he was distracted. The changes in his life had come at him at warp speed starting with discovering Fiona was pregnant, and now all of this.

He had an enormous desire to set everything aside and find a desert island somewhere for himself, Fiona and their children who were about to be born. But he knew he couldn't do that, no matter tempting the idea.

He set down the bottle, mostly empty now, and joined Fiona in the bed, resting his head on one arm while wrapping his other arm around her, and pulling in close to her warmth. Her restless movements ceased, and so did his. His last thought before he drifted into sleep was to wonder how long this brief peace would last.

#

#

#

"I have two funerals to attend, and you're all capable of defending yourselves. I think. Try to stay out of trouble. I'll be back."

Raines was not happy that the team had declared themselves guard-free. And they were leaving him. "We did what you wanted, and we're done," Sam announced.

They planned to finish sorting through the files on the remaining operatives to be located, and would prioritize them before they left.

"You got a whole list of bad guys you can go after," Jesse told him. "So that means we take our lives back."

Most the operatives who had been found on the hidden files within the NOC list had been arrested in a swift, coordinated, world-wide sweep two days earlier. There were several people currently being sought, but none who had been operating in Miami, except for Management and Larry, of course. And both of them had dropped off every radar screen anywhere.

Sam promoted his theory that they'd probably killed each other, saving everyone a great deal of trouble.

"Sure, but we need to find their bodies," Raines told him. "Until that happens, they're still on our most wanted list."

Raines stalked out the door and looked like he would have slammed it except the hinge was equipped with a pneumatic closing mechanism and spoiled his fun.

Jesse reached for his sports jacket, and shrugged into it. " I need to know what's happening at my company, so I'm going, too. I'll be back before he is. You guys stay safe."

"You, too, Jess." Sam moved to the center of the room where Michael and Fiona sat on a couch, going through a stack of files piled between them. Raines had opted for the low tech approach-words on paper instead of computer screens. Once everything had been printed and delivered to him, it was a matter of sorting threats.

"This sitting and doing nothing is on my list," Fiona muttered.

"We're doing something," Michael said.

"What list?" Sam asked.

"Things she hates."

"That's gotta be a hell of a long list," Sam said as he picked up one of the files Fi discarded because the employee was already incarcerated, someone once on Management's go-to list.

"Dammit." Fi struggled to stand up, so Sam reached over and gave her a hand. "Number one!"

Sam raised an eyebrow as she headed toward the bathroom then glanced over at Mike who was smiling. "Number one?"

"Trips to the bathroom are at the top of the list of things she hates. It's a long list."

"Didn't I just say that?"

"It'll be better when the boys are born."

"You're as crazy as she is about this boy thing." Sam flipped the file down in the seat Fi had vacated. "I'm kinda worried. She sure looks a lot more pregnant than 34 weeks. Maybe it's cause she's so little."

"You've been reading that book again."

"You haven't?" Sam returned Michael's jab.

Michael looked up. "We all have. I saw Raines looking at it."

"Looking at what?" Fiona asked, but before she say another word or take another step, she grabbed the back of a chair and let a stream of air hiss between her clenched teeth.

Michael was instantly at her side. "Fi?"

"Braxton-Hicks." She inhaled slowly. "I think." She exhaled slowly. Her knuckles were white from her grip on the chair back.

"You think?" He took her arm to help her back to the couch, but she stopped.

"Just a sec. I need to . . ." Another wave of muscles tightening across her abdominal wall halted her forward motion.

Michael's voice was calm. "Fi, we need to get you to the clinic. This looks like more than Braxton Hicks."

"Not so fast . . . . Doctor . . . . Westen," Fiona said between small spasms. "We can call . . .oooh." Another spam hit.

Michael looked over at Sam. "If you can hold on and make sure she doesn't fall, I'll go get the car. Fi, we need to get you to the clinic. Your doctor said since we aren't sure when you got pregnant you might be farther along than we think. Let's not take chances, okay?"

"Over - " Fi took a breath, shuddered with the grip the contraction had on her, then started again. "Over -" She squeezed her eyes shut from the pain. Her knees seemed to weaken, so Michael put his arms around and under hers, supporting her weight. And once more she was unable to speak because the contraction rippling across her abdomen was so strong and painful. "Over-reacting, Michael," she finally said as she straightened up.

He grinned at her. "Don't think so."

Sam met Michael's worried gaze, but spoke to Fiona. "Let's not take any chances, kid. Not today."

Sam steadied her in place, but she wasn't ready to give up her steely grip on the chair. Michael crossed the room, swung open the door and stopped abruptly. Dead Larry was standing exactly in front of him with a gun pointed at his chest.

"I was just about to knock." Slowly and with great care, Michael raised his hands in the air.

"Talk about service with smile. Things are going better than I planned," Larry said. "And believe me, I've planned." He indicated Michael should turn around with a wave of his gun. "Back inside, Westen. And let me relieve you of that." When Michael turned around, Larry tugged the revolver from the holster secured at the back of his waist and pointed both hand cannons at him.

Michael slowly stepped forward.

Sam swore. "Crap."

Fiona groaned out a long breath of air at the small scene at the doorway. "Shit," she said nearly under her breath.

"That, too, sister," Sam's reply was barely audible. "You okay?"

Fiona straightened up, glanced at Sam and nodded before she took a small step back from the chair and angled her body to the doorway where Larry held Michael.

Wherever Larry had been, whatever he had been doing, Sam would have bet he was on drugs. His eyes looked wild, unusually focused, and his grin had a macabre grimness.

"Well, look here," Larry snarled. "There's the little mama, and it looks like she's just about ready to have those babies. Is my timing impeccable or what? Of course, I have you to thank for messing things up the other day." He jabbed Michael in the back with one of the guns in his hand, moving him back into the room.

He spoke slowly, with a vicious edge to each word. "Do you have any idea of how tired I am of you people? And you, especially, Michael. Every time I'm ready to move, one of you blocks my way. But that stops today. I've already had some good luck. I took care of Jesse before I got here. One down, and what? Five to go. I'm looking forward to my three-fer with Fiona. She's first, then Sam then Michael. And then I'm going to go get rid of the old mamas, and the brother and Raines. Truly, today is going to be a cleansing experience for me."

"Nothing will wash you clean, Larry," Michael said.

Larry reacted swiftly and smashed the gun butt in his right hand into Michael's skull. The blow sent him to his knees, tumbling forward, unconscious. Larry twitched his shoulders and lowered his aim to Michael. "I can always improvise."

Sam and Fiona formulated an unspoken plan in less than half of a heartbeat. She reached for her Ruger and Sam pulled his .45 from his belt, and with precision coordination, they aimed in the same instant Larry looked up to see their guns pointed at him. He raised his weapon and pulled the trigger as they fired in unison. Larry fell instantly.

So did Fiona.

"Crap!" Sam turned and dropped to his knees to check her. She was bleeding along the right side of her ribcage.

"I'm okay. It's just a nick, here on my side," she said, holding a hand against her ribs. "Check Michael."

Sam hurried over to where Larry had fallen, kicked the handguns out of his reach and knelt down to check his pulse. It was fading. Larry opened his eyes long enough to smirk at Sam. "Hope she dies." Then death overtook him.

Michael was unconscious. Sam examined his head wound, turned his body over and shook him. "Mike!" He slapped his face lightly, and shook his arm. "Mike! Come on, buddy. Come on back, Mike. Come on. Need you here, buddy. Mike!"

A few seconds later, Michael opened his eyes and attempted to focus.

"Oh, good," Sam sighed. "Come on, Mikey, we gotta get Fi and you to a . . ."

Fiona let loose a low groan of pain.

Sam left Michael and pulled his phone from his pocket and punched in 911. By the time he reached Fi, she was in a half sitting position on the floor. In puddle.

She looked up at Sam and blinked. Her eyes were huge and emerald dark as she realized what was happening. "My water just broke."

"Ah, Fi . . . come on. Dammit!"

When 911 answered, Sam rattled off his name, the building address and the problem. "We got an injured man, and an injured woman with twins going into labor, and one dead. And check the highway on the way here. There may be another man in a Porsche who's been shot or worse." He disconnected, and called to Michael who was now sitting upright, groggily rubbing his head, across the room.

"Mikey, get your butt over here. You're gonna be a daddy today."

Fiona groaned. "Real soon." She groaned again. "Real soon."

"How the hell did this happen so fast?" Sam yelled.

Fiona started to answer him but couldn't. She waited for the pain to pass before she could speak. "I don't think . . . they . . . were . . . Braxton . . . Hicks." She tugged and tried to remove her knit pants and panties, and Sam helped pull them off. Modesty took a hike because her boys were impatient.

Sam yelled at Michael who was standing, but holding on to a table for balance. "Grab some clean towels from the bathroom, and get over here, Mike. And don't fall down!"

He turned his attention back to Fiona. "Okay, I guess we're going to do this cave woman style, today. You ready? You probably don't know but I've done this before. Delivered three kids already. Not mine, if you're interested. Didn't plan . . . on more." He shoved her knit pants under her. They had to be cleaner than the floor.

Fiona rested on her elbows. "That's good," Sam said. "Stay like that. Best position for a mama. Oh, yeah . . . let's see. There's the kid . . . looks like . . . "

When Michael appeared at Fi's side, Sam pushed him in front of her and moved back. "There you go, Mikey . . . oh, yeah . . . one more push, Fi and wow. Wow. You got a boy."

Any moment a new life enters the world, there is a glimpse of all that is pure, holy and good, no matter the circumstances, and Sam knew he was as teary as his friends.

Blood was running down Michael's neck from the blow Larry had administered when he'd hit him, but he was oblivious to it when he saw Fiona. He couldn't take everything in fast enough, watching her tear-streaked face to their son emerging from her womb. "Oh, Fi . . . oh . . . Lord, I love you, woman."

He moved one of the towels under her just in time to catch his son as he was born. He held the slippery child up for her to see. "You were right."

"That's Seth," she said with satisfaction. "Seth Michael." She reached to hold him, but couldn't because another violent contraction gripped her and held on. Her fingers dug into the carpeting on both sides of her, before she took a deep breath and waited it out. Michael watched as she breathed in deeply, then out, taking another breath before the next big contraction hit her. Her face was wet with tears and pain, tears that matched his.

"There we go, there we go, Fi," Sam coaxed, "And there you go, honey, and here's your other boy. Damn, Fi. Look at that. You got twin boys, girl!"

"Justin . . . Samuel." Fi announced as Sam placed the slippery infant on his mother's belly. Fiona wrapped her hands around tiny shoulders and smoothed her hand over a tiny head. Michael was gently patting his firstborn's back, and the lad objected to the harsh cold and light beyond his mother's womb with a very loud wail.

Fiona laughed, and Michael maneuvered his crying son to Fiona's belly while taking his second born son to gently rub his back until he inhaled and exhaled with an identical wail of complaint.

It was a beautiful sound interrupted when the EMTs arrived to find one man dead in the doorway, and another two men, one of whom was injured, kneeling next to a woman who had just given birth to twin boys. They were all laughing and crying at the same time. Two EMTs moved in to assess the mother's health, and wrap her and her babies in warm, sterile blankets for transport to the hospital.

The man who identified himself as Uncle Sam, stood, wiped his hands across his eyes. The man who was bleeding from a head wound wouldn't leave his wife or infants, so they stopped arguing with him, put a self-adhesive bandage over his head wound and kept them as a family unit in the same ambulance.

When the cops arrived, Raines was right behind them.

Sam took one look at Raines before forgetting his better judgment and swung a fist that connected with his jaw, and sent him stumbling backward. When a cop stepped over to grab Sam, Raines waved him away.

"Leave him alone. That was personal. I'm sorry, Axe."

Sam rubbed his knuckles. "Jesse?"

"Injured. On the way to the hospital. I don't know more than that."

"Is it over now?"

Raines shook his head. "No. It's not."

"Crap."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Seth Michael Westen entered the world at seven pounds, five ounces and twenty-one and one half inches in length. Justin Samuel Westen made a nearly identical appearance, but he weighed an ounce less. And they were identical, so much so that Justin had one tiny blue toenail, marked so Fiona and everyone else could keep her matching sons straight.

They'd roomed in at the hospital in the same bassinet, and the nurse who helped them shared all kinds of helpful information about twins, from keeping them swaddled tightly to keeping them in the same small bed for now. After all, they were used to close quarters.

Fiona's doctor said his estimation on conception had been wrong. Her twins were jumbo size, for twins, he said. They were not premature, as indicated by their weights and robust health. They were born, he estimated, at 38 or 39 weeks. Maybe 40. Their lungs were fully developed, they were breathing well, and both were able to nurse easily, all distinctive signs of full term babies.

Unlike many first time mothers, Fiona had no problem with any aspect of nursing. She felt completely natural, and her body had been generous with her. Despite her small size, she was more than capable of nursing two. The nurse specializing in breastfeeding paid her a very quick visit, and told her she should be a poster mom, an idea that made Fi shudder. The weight her boys had lost after their birth, a normal occurrence, had been regained already.

Dr. Prentice continued to tell her how lucky and how blessed she was. When she felt the bandage on her side where Larry had shot her, she knew that to be true. He grinned when he warned her that, as one of the lucky women who sailed through pregnancy and delivery, it was something she should keep to herself because so many other women struggled with every aspect of motherhood. And, he said, should she have more children, he'd expect she would have the same experiences the next time, hopefully without suffering a gunshot wound during labor.

She silently agreed with her mother that her guardian angel was present. She'd felt the presence before, and in reflective moments had come to believe it was her sister Claire who watched over her. Her mother, Fiona learned, had nearly identical experiences with having children. Easy, uncomplicated pregnancies, followed by quick deliveries and big, healthy babies. Fi was amazed she'd never heard Ena mention any of this prior to the boys' births.

Their first night at the hospital had its own unique trauma.

When Michael had become aware of how Fi and Sam had shot Larry, and realized the reason why the stitches below her left breast were being bandaged, he became silent and withdrawn. He waited until all the visitors left-Maddie and Ena, Sean, Sam and Raines. Their sons had been taken to the nursery to be exposed to bilirubin light in the neonatal unit, to help their tiny livers break down red blood cells and eliminate newborn jaundice. They had just returned from the nursery and had closed the door to Fi's room when Michael took her in his arms and held her as if she was delicate porcelain.

"I have died a hundred deaths since I found out what you and Sam did, Fi. I don't know what . . ."

Fiona reached up to put her hand on his cheek, damp with emotions he'd held in check too long, and felt her own release. "He would have killed you, Michael, and I need you. Our sons need you."

He couldn't speak. He could only hold her close and recognize the gift she had given him. Again. How many times had she saved his life? Or risked hers for his?

Michael resisted being admitted for observance of his head injury, but did submit to a neurological examination. As a new father, he'd been allowed to stay in the room with Fi in a bed adjacent to hers. That way he could be with her when the babies were brought to her for nursing. It had been a peaceful night with lovely interruptions when the boys came, and Michael had a chance to hold and talk to each of his sons while Fi nursed the other.

The next morning, the Grammas arrived, laden with gifts, hugs and chatter. Michael excused himself to find Jesse after Fi shooed him away.

Sam's alert to the 911 operator about Jesse and his Porsche had sent police looking for him. They discovered his car down an embankment, sitting precariously close to a channel not far from Raines' office. The driver's side window had been shattered by a gunshot, and they found Jesse slumped over but held in place by his seatbelt. One of the ER doctors told Sam if he hadn't been located when he was, he could have bled to death from the shoulder wound. His car, Sam reported, was going to need extensive repair, and he'd started that process for Jesse, making arrangements for estimates and bringing him papers from his insurance company.

Sam and Michael were both in Jesse's room when Raines dropped in. What he held in his hand didn't look anything like a get well card.

"Glad to find you all here. It'll save time," Raines said. "And it's good to know you're doing well, Agent Porter."

"Raines, I told you. I'm retired. Again. Permanently. All done. No more," Jesse replied. "And, I'm out of commission."

The three friends stared at the folder Raines brought. They each recognized it as one of Raines' CIA employee files. The folder contained information on someone identified as a traitor, someone whose name appeared on the previously unknown portion of the NOC list.

Raines set it on the tray table at the end of Jesse's bed.

Sam looked at him and the folder and took a bit of satisfaction from the bruise he'd left on Raines' jaw. "Yeah, I'll bite." He opened the folder and started scanning pages. After a few moments, he closed it slowly, and handed it to Michael who took it then looked at Raines.

"This is Pandora's box, isn't it?" Michael said. "Open this and all the evils of the world spill out and I won't be able to do a damned thing about them. Right?"

"Maybe," Raines said. "But the Greeks say the box wasn't empty. Hope stayed in the box."

"Is that all you got, Raines? You're _hoping_ Mike's going to take this?" Sam's question held a bitter edge.

"His choice, but he needs to see that. We owe him that much."

Michael took the file and sat down on the chair next to Jesse's bed. He scanned the pages, flipped through them quickly once, then returned to inhale what was written more completely. He read each page slowly, memorizing details, dates. Nearly an hour passed before he closed it, stood and set it back on Jesse's table.

He turned away and looked out the hospital window.

Finally. Five years after he started asking, he had the answer.

He knew who had him burned. Two people. Just two. Management and an agency psychologist by the name of Anson.

They purposefully infiltrated every part of his life, every relationship. He was the instrument they played. Or tried to play, but just when they thought they had him tuned, he'd turned it into something discordant.

It only made them come back at him harder. They had threatened his life, and the lives of his mother, brother, Sam, Jesse, Fiona, her mother, her brothers. And, now that he had sons, they would be next.

Anson had dug deep. He'd ferreted out information on him, Fi, Sam, Jesse, Nate, his mother . . .and looked at each of them like a guinea pig or a specimen under his microscope. With that much examination and he and Management knew which sore spots to prod. Anson was a shrink cut from the same fabric as Joseph Mengle, the Nazi death camp doctor, and every bit as ruthless and lethal.

Together, Anson and Management had harmed each of them, had stolen privacy from each of them. Nothing, nothing at all, was sacred.

As long as they were alive, they wouldn't stop. Just like Larry. They couldn't stop. Despite what the agency had accomplished, their resources were still too vast. They would continue to rebuild.

But they-Raines, Max, Sam, Jesse and Fi-they had wounded them severely by taking down most of their organization. Michael knew he needed to cut the head off the adder if any of them could hope to enjoy a future. He knew it as surely as the sun would rise in the east, and so did Sam. And Raines. And when Jesse finished, so would he.

Michael glanced back to see Jesse shaking his head. He looked up at one point and met Michael's gaze. "He used your mother?"

"Yours, too."

And why had they done this? Because they could.

They were people who refused to take no or hell no, as an answer. For five years. And now Management wanted Fi, too.

Now Michael knew what that was all about, the phone he'd given her after she'd taken out Larry at the warehouse. That wasn't a random act of kindness, it was a recruiting tool. Very slick. Management hadn't grown soft as he'd aged. He was wily, sly, evil. And he'd had a silent partner.

Jesse closed the folder and looked at Sam, then Michael. "You know what I say. Gotta put the rabid dogs down."

"Westen, if you take this assignment, you'll be reinstated. You'll have an income to take care of your family. You won't have to worry about how to pay for the baby formula," Raines offered.

Michael turned away. "Don't worry about it now."

"You are literally the only person left who could come close to taking them down," Raines added. "You should have died years ago."

"That's as comforting a sales point as telling me I'll have death benefits," Michael said, feeling his jaw clench. He turned around and picked up the file. "Can I borrow this?"

Raines frowned. "Ah . . . "

When Raines looked as if he was going to say no, Jesse spoke up. "He needs to show his wife, man."

"Remember her?" Sam asked. "Mother of twins? Born in your office? Two days ago? Got to get the carpet cleaned now?"

#

#

#

Fiona looked over to her husband, who was sitting propped up in a recliner, the most popular chair in the room. He held a son in each arm and, with the sweetest smile she had ever seen on his face, he was watching and listening to them sleep. She'd placed them in his arms herself after she finished nursing them, and he returned from visiting Jesse.

"You need to see this," he said.

"Then you need to be dad," she replied, knowing this would be the first uninterrupted time Michael had to hold both of his newborn sons at one time. He couldn't take his eyes from them.

Now that she had finished reading the file, she knew what would come. She could read his thoughts, and more, she knew what had to be done. What must be done. He wasn't asking. He didn't need to. When she spoke, she kept her voice low so she wouldn't disturb their boys.

"Showing me this damned thing now was probably not one of your better ideas, Michael. I've got way too many nasty hormones flooding my system which make me either teary or irritable. I have stitches on my bottom that hurt, not to mention the damned things under my arm that are itchy. And I'm leaking. On everything. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable a nursing bra is? Do you?"

He smiled. "Not equipped for it, Fi."

She tapped the folder. "Know what my favorite parts are?"

"Might be the same as mine."

"The mothers. How they . . . manipulated. Everyone." She clamped her mouth shut and felt tears fall. "Dammit."

Fiona swiped at her eyes and climbed down from the bed and padded over to him. She cupped her hands to caress the sweet tiny heads of their sleeping sons and leaned in to kiss Michael.

"I will hate it when you go."

He kissed her back. "And I will hate it, too."

"When?"

He had to look away from her then. His chest heaved, as if he was withholding a great, mournful sob. His voice shuddered. "I think I've got some of your hormones."

She reached and wiped the tears from his face with her hands. "That soon?"

He kissed her palm and couldn't speak, but looked down at his sons.

"Promise you will come back to us," Fiona whispered against his cheek.

He met her lips softly. "I promise, Fi. I promise."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

The house Fiona rented was two doors down and across the street from Maddie's house.

The proximity allowed for privacy and independence, something Madeline had been lacking for nearly six months while Fiona's mother and brother were staying with her. It was an ideal situation that let Maddie spend as much time as she wanted with her two newest grandsons.

Madeline thanked Fiona for making sure the boys were so close. And now that she had become a mother, Fiona could see how Michael's minimal communications and decade-long absences from his mother's life affected her, even as she could understand why he had done that.

It was no wonder Madeline sought help from psychotherapists, but sadly for all of them, that was a key factor in what Anson and Management used to burn Michael.

Fiona's house was of the same vintage as Madeline's with nearly the same floor plan and exterior appearance. The rooms were spacious, and the wood floors had been refinished. The walls wore fresh, all-purpose white paint. There was lots of light, and new central air. There was nothing better in Miami in the summer than a brand new central AC unit.

Had Fiona's heart been making the decision about where to live, she would have taken her boys to the loft, but her newly enhanced over-protective mode took over when she thought about the practical way to deal with the loft stairs and two babies. That made the house near Maddie's perfect, at least until Michael returned. They'd figure out the rest of their lives, once he was done with what he had to do.

Madeline had the bed from the loft moved from her guest room to Fi's house, and before Ena and Sean returned to Ireland, they helped get the household basics in place for her and the twins. Sean had moved a number of things from the loft to the house for Fi, and had set up the baby furniture during the time Fiona was away, working with Michael, Sam, Jesse and Raines.

The house was as secure as it could be. Jesse outlined system, but it was Sam who installed hardware and audio scramblers at both houses.

Much to Maddie's dismay, Raines' protective details stayed in place.

He also kept Max's promise to Ena and Sean to get them back to Ireland without interference, and by air. They planned to return for the twins' first birthday, and asked for Fiona's promise to bring her boys to Ireland before they were five.

Ena had an emotionally difficult time leaving her daughter and grandsons, and Fiona felt a loss she hadn't expected when Ena hugged her good-bye. Sean had kissed the top of his sister's head, gave her a hug, and told her he as much as he'd miss her, but he was really looking forward to wearing a sweater again.

Ena had knitted blankets for both of her grandsons and had left them with Fiona. She wanted this new, stronger relationship with her daughter to continue. But, like Sean, she believed Fiona would be wherever her husband was, and that would not be in Ireland. The only thing that might bring her home would be if something happened to him, and wouldn't want that to happen. For a reason she didn't examine too closely, she'd grown fond of him, and asked St. Michael daily to protect him.

One of the things Ena discovered during her stay in America was that she wanted a life of peace. So much had happened in the past five, nearly six months, it was hard to take it all in. She had agreed with Sean. When they returned to Ireland, the Glenannes needed to leave The Troubles.

Madeline held off until Ena and Sean left before she finally felt free to speak her mind about her son's behavior, and speak it she did. Loudly.

She was as angry with Michael as anyone had ever witnessed. In her opinion, her son had abandoned his wife and children.

It didn't matter that Fiona didn't share that opinion.

"He couldn't even stick around for a week! And why are you so calm about this?" she shouted at Fiona. "He's off risking his life again, and for what? Listen, this thrill a minute lifestyle you the two have has to end. You can't raise a family this way!"

"We know that, Madeline." Fiona tried to explain with her calm voice instead of her exasperated tone, but it didn't matter what she said or how she said it.

And, it didn't matter what Sam said or what Jesse told her about why this was important for Michael to finish this job. There was no breaking through Madeline's anger.

There was no discussion, nor any way to counter anything Maddie said so Fiona ceased trying.

It seemed the only peace Madeline had these days were in the moments she played with Charlie or held Seth or Justin.

#

#

#

This was different.

The anger coursing through his bloodstream was unlike any emotion he'd encountered in his life, not even when he was a kid, helpless to protect his mother or brother from his father's rage. This type of anger was cathartic and calming. It kept him productive, sharp, focused. Directed.

He needed a bulletproof plan to deal with Anson Fullerton and Management, and it came to him while he was holding his sons he knew exactly who he needed to help him.

He needed some baby faces. Not his infants, but a couple of men twenty something years older than his sons, and twenty something years younger than he was.

When he told Raines who he wanted at his back, Raines argued. It was exactly what Michael expected.

"We do this my way or you can do it your way. Fiona has told me for a long time all I need to do is walk away from this mess. I can do that, Raines."

Raines shook his head. "You won't walk away from this."

"I will. And I'll take Fi and our kids and we'll disappear. Do you doubt it?"

Raines studied his face for several slow heartbeats, then relented. "You seriously want to work with two untrained, inexperienced . . . former military . . . what? A sniper and a demolitions expert? And one of them has a dishonorable discharge. I don't even know where to start with that."

"Yeah, you'll need to get that changed for him."

"On your word. Right."

"Look into it yourself. You might need to dig, but do it."

"You've forgotten this is my operation, Westen."

"Really? So that's why you gave me Anson's file and a job?"

Raines had no reply. He paced to the opposite side of his office, stuck his hands in his pockets and stared out the window.

"Where the hell did you find them?" he finally asked.

"I met Ethan several months ago. We served under the same CO in Afghanistan. The captain sent him here to see if we could help him find the con artist who put his sister in a hospital. Your guys were trying to recruit him before I met him, Raines. And I met Cole a year ago after the hurricane. The FBI lost a key witness, asked for help and Cole helped me locate him. He's got skills."

Raines' vision narrowed as he remembered something he'd read in an FBI report before he brought Michael back into the agency. He had always been suspicious of the burn file, more so when one particularly vicious incident Westen was supposed to have created was something he, personally, knew was false.

"That's the guy? If I remember correctly, he was the hitter and escaped . . . and you made that happen, didn't you?" Raines said with disgust.

"Marine, bomb disposal expert used to putting his life on the line. Good guy who got a raw deal."

"I don't see how you're going to accomplish anything with them."

"We need to use their tools against them. They know all my secrets, and they know some of yours, too." Michael cocked his head and grinned. "And you were not to be considered for inclusion in their little project because you're too . . . what did Anson say? Too committed to rules."

"And you were picked because you are so good at breaking them," Raines pointed out.

"True. Know what that means? We're the weak links. They know how to play us. But they don't know Cole or Ethan, and their evals and profiles are stored in data they can't get to because we've taken down too much of their network. That's why we need them. They're the unknowns. I trust them, and they have skills we need."

Doubt was clearly cast in Raines expression. "What do you expect me to do?"

Michael shrugged. "You've got agency muscle and can make things happen, so hire them. I'll talk to them about what we want to do, but you have the ability to get them here. Ethan is at Langley, halfway through the CIA door already, so he can help you locate Cole who's probably somewhere in Antigua. Consider them secret weapons."

It took Raines a few moments to see Michael's logic. At the same time, Michael acknowledged Raines was also right. Ethan and Cole would have on the job training. Ethan was a recruit, already eager to go to work, and Michael was betting Cole would be up for ending his permanent island vacation.

While Raines went to collect the new crew members, Michael sought counseling.

#

#

#

"I'm sorry I'm running so late," Father Hector said, as he joined Michael, who was sitting in his office. He'd arrived at Saint Ambrose for his appointment but had been informed the priest would be delayed and had asked that Michael wait for him in his office.

Michael spotted a book on the table next to the chair by his desk and was reading when the priest arrived, a bit out of breath.

"I was surprised by your call, Michael. I know this must be important if you are here. I saw your sons yesterday. They are growing already. You and Fiona have been blessed with beautiful children. I had a chance to speak with her about the baptisms, but I missed you. I understand you are back with the CIA and will be leaving the country soon?"

"Thank you, and yes, I'll be leaving soon." Michael paused and looked down at his hands. "And I most likely will not be here for the baptisms, Father."

"Fiona explained that. Now, how can I help you?"

#

#

#

Mission objective over personal satisfaction was a hard lesson to learn, but Michael had learned it as an operative with a nonofficial cover.

As a burned operative with a nonofficial cover, he'd learned sometimes, a personal life needs to take priority.

This would be one of those times.

He was scheduled to leave Langley the day after Raines, Ethan and Cole headed south.

As he expected, they had both eagerly taken what Raines offered, especially Cole with the chance to have his dishonorable discharge reversed. Raines didn't tell them who they would be meeting at Langley, but as soon as they saw Michael, Ethan laughed and Cole walked forward, hand outstretched.

Michael explained the mission objective and told Cole reversing his discharge wasn't contingent on his participation if he chose not to join them. Raines turned away from him then, and Michael could see he was struggling to hold his silence because he promised Cole something Raines was obligated to deliver. And Raines was absolutely not comfortable with re-sequencing events.

They were discussing the mission several weeks later when Ethan paused. "Why us? I mean Cole and me, specifically? Why not two other guys?"

Michael had looked away from the file on Management he was studying. Raines' clearance level had provided many tools to help prepare them.

"You are everything they arrogantly think they can control. You're young, strong, intelligent and intuitive. I didn't give you a psych exam to know that. I learned it by working with you. By observation. But if they had a chance to dig into your personal lives the way they did in mine or my family and friends, they'd know which of your buttons to push. They don't know you. And they will fear your physicality."

Cole cast a questioning glance at that last piece of evaluation.

Michael shrugged. "They're narcissistic. They've been doing what they do so long they think they _can't_ be tricked, so we'll use that. They think physicality is a sign of weakness, but they fear it. They think they can control it. I work out every morning. So do you. You've seen their photos. What do you think they do in the morning?"

Ethan shook his head and smiled. Cole laughed. "This think-like-a-spy stuff is fun," Ethan said.

"Yeah," Cole agreed. "It is."

And with that, the CIA had the start of a brand new two-man team, Michael observed with a paternal grin.

Raines had been stern with them, and decided Ethan needed more time looking at the scenery in Suriname so they headed out early. Cole had spent time in Antigua, but he'd roamed as far as Suriname which gave him an advantage for remembering locations, tactical positions. And what he remembered was extremely valuable. If Cole didn't have a photographic memory, Raines thought it was damned close. And Ethan's sniper record stood on its own, even above Westen's.

Raines was newly irritated because, just as they were ready to depart, Michael threw another joker on top of his tidy pile of cards. It was someone Raines' would rather arrest than work with.

He'd gone to bat for Westen time and time again. But today, after Westen's casual announcement on who he wanted Cole and Ethan to meet, Raines wondered how much satisfaction it would give him to use the bat on Westen instead of for him.

#

#

#

Michael planned to join Raines, Ethan and Cole within 24 hours, but when his plane touched down on the runway in Miami at 2 a.m., he knew he wasn't leaving the city until he saw Fiona and their sons.

He figured Raines was smart enough to figure that one out and could adjust.

Neither Management nor Anson had been very creative in relocating from Caracas to Suriname, possibly why it'd been so easy to find them. It could be a ploy, of course, to draw them there, but their objective was to keep the guys who thought they were the smartest people on the planet to keep on thinking like that.

On the other hand, sometimes the smartest people on the planet were just too smart, which made them easy to trip up.

Phones, computers . . . either method of communication came with the inherent danger of eavesdroppers. So Michael and Fiona had taken a step back in time, and had gone low tech.

They had been communicating easily for the past several months, thanks to the United States Postal Service and a variety of mail. It was amazing the number of insurance promotions, cable television plans, fundraising letters and magazine or baby product direct mail offers were dropped through the mail slot on Fiona's front porch. Her junk mail was filled with personal messages from Michael, as the mail sent to his PO box in Washington, D.C.

Fiona was awake and waiting for him when he arrived at shortly before 3 a.m. She'd just put the boys down after a bit of late night or early morning fussing. Her sweet boys were cutting teeth as evidenced by their little red gums.

In the past three months, she had come to understand she didn't fit the motherhood mold the usual way. She knew, as she had for most of her adult life, she would never be in step with women her age.

Perhaps it was because of where she came from, what she had done, her skills with weapons and demolitions.

Perhaps it was because giving life to Seth and Justin had been an emotional experience that overpowered all else.

It wasn't that she didn't grow tired when her boys were cranky, and there were times she looked in the mirror and ruefully laughed at her appearance. No. The main reason Fiona sensed this separation she had from other women was because she embraced every single aspect of her new life and the two new lives Michael had given her. Death had huffed its cold breath around her once too often to not embrace the warmth and light of new life.

Michael's absence was difficult, but she knew it was no more difficult for her than it was for anyone who loved someone serving in the military.

Fiona's core belief that he would return and be whole when he finished this job could not be shaken. The last chapter in the horrible saga that had controlled their lives was about to be written. This story would end, and Michael was perfectly capable of ending it. She had faith he would do just that.

When she heard his footsteps on the stairs, she smiled. "You got the code to disarm the alarm," she said. "I don't know why people say the post office can't do anything right. It seems perfectly efficient to me."

He wrapped her in his arms and folded her as close as he could. "I have missed you," he whispered as his mouth found hers.

Fiona pulled him across the room to their bed, and would have undressed him herself except he was doing that much more adeptly than her fumbling hands would have. She removed her robe and pulled him into an embrace and, within seconds, into herself. It was a shared homecoming, replete with gifts and warmth that had been missing for too long.

A few moments later, Michael rested his forehead on hers. "Have I mentioned that I missed you?"

"I got that," she said with a soft smile, and when he would have pulled away, she stopped him, holding him so very close to her. "No. Please. Stay."

"But . . ."

"You are not hurting me."

He kissed her again as she smoothed her hands along his back and hips, and without encouragement, they found each other again. Michael turned to lay on his back as Fiona anchored him there with her head on his chest and arm around his waist. With whispers and caresses, they let time pass until they couldn't bear to be separated any longer.

When at last they turned on their sides to face each other, they shared small caresses, soft expressions of care and tenderness. "I like having you all to myself," Fiona said.

And she did, on silken smooth cotton sheets, in a dark room lit only by a child's nightlight. She could feel his strength had returned, his injuries healed, just as he could feel her body had neatly reformed itself with gentle curves and arcs in places he had memorized long ago.

By the time night faded and morning arrived, they had not slept, but their sons stirred in their cradles on the other side of the bedroom. Michael smiled at Fi. "Let me, okay?"

Fi excused herself to the bathroom while he pulled on his boxers and got up to see his sons. They quieted as he spoke to them, and he reached for the fussiest twin.

"Hey, fella, oh, I can see we need to change something here." Michael's voice was soft. He looked around and spotted the diapers, the disposal can and the wipes and changed Seth's diaper. He put him back in his cradle with a kiss to his chubby cheek, before reaching for Justin, who similarly needed a new diaper. "You both got bigger," Michael told him as he finished fastening the diaper and leaned down to kiss his sweet baby belly.

When Fi came back, she could see everything was under control, so she took a seat in the wooden rocking chair and opened her robe to nurse Seth while Michael took Justin to the bed and sat down, talking softly to him while he held him.

When he looked over to Fiona to tell her how much he regretted not being there, his breath caught. Once, he had dreamed this. He had seen this image in his mind, had watched Fiona nursing his child at her breast. He found he could not speak. He could only be a witness to something ethereal and pure.

She looked up and smiled a bit sadly at him. "We probably won't be doing this much longer since they'll both have their bottom teeth soon."

When Michael didn't respond she looked at him, a question in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

He smiled. "Now I am."

#

#

#

The G series plate on the dark grey sedan backed into the driveway at the side of Fiona's house could have been a neon light the way morning sun glinted on its reflective surface. Madeline paused from taking a sip of her coffee and looked again. Could that be what Michael was driving?

She found herself knocking on the window of the guard Raines had assigned to her home. She handed him his morning cup of coffee with a question. "Whose car is that?"

"Your son was driving it."

Madeline nodded. "Thank you."

Within moments she was dressed, had disarmed the lock, rearmed it and was and going through Fiona's kitchen door. "Good morning?"

When she didn't hear anything, she proceeded toward the bedroom. "Michael? Fiona?"

"In here, Mom."

Madeline found her son in his undershorts, sitting on a bed, holding one of his sons. Fiona was across the room nursing the other.

"Were you going to call?" Madeline wondered. "When did you get here?"

"I've only been here a couple of hours, Mom. I didn't think you'd want me to wake you at 3 a.m."

"And how long are you going to be here?"

"Probably a few more hours."

"Hours, Michael? _Hours_?"

Michael nodded, puzzled by the aggressive nature of his mother's questions. "Mom, have I done something to make you angry?"

"You left your wife and children here to fend for themselves while you went off on another mission to save somebody from something! When is this going to stop, Michael?"

"It's not like that, Mom."

"It's exactly like that! When does this end?" Maddie turned and walked out of the bedroom.

Fiona came to retrieve Justin from Michael's arms since she had just put Seth back in his cradle. "Go."

"Mom? Please stop," Michael asked as he followed her through the house to the kitchen. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently held her still. "Raines told you, didn't he?"

Madeline spun around. There were tears in her eyes. "That . . . that sonofabitch. I remember him; he was so nice, so different, so understanding."

"Anson."

"Is that his name?"

"Yes."

"Then stay away from him, Michael. Just stop this . . . this fighting, and . . . "

"He has to be stopped, Mom."

"Just leave him alone, Michael. Come home . . . just quit."

"I can't do that."

Madeline appeared to snap out of the ugly, painful place her heart had traveled to in time to recognize where she was and what she'd just said.

"I need to go home," she said curtly. "And you need to put some pants on."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Michael watched Seymour regale Ethan and Cole with his commitment to the universal embodiment of all physical and spiritual good, Tai Chi Chuan. At the faint questions in their expressions, Seymour expounded, happy to be illumination for those without knowledge of the ancient practice.

He drew a squiggle and a circle in the air and ended with an open hand movement. "You know? Yin and yang? Fusion into one? Tai Chi Chuan balances it all. It's a beautiful thing."

Michael could see Cole and Ethan evaluating what they had been told about the arms dealer, matching it to the man who was talking to them.

"Think spiritual combining with physical," he said, adding another layer of explanation.

They were sitting in a Paramaribo open air restaurant near the waterfront. The high ceiling above them was dark wood, providing protection from the rain and affording a sense of privacy at the same time. It was a location Seymour and others of his kind were known to frequent. Exits were numerous.

The air was scented with the pleasant as well as the unpleasant, a unique combination of fecund mustiness muddled by air currents blowing across tropical river waters. Paramaribo was a small town compared to Miami in a country unaccustomed to wealth. Seymour fit in like he belonged there, because he did.

When he noticed Michael, he stopped and grinned a huge, bearded smile full of teeth not to be ignored. "You're a long way from Miami."

Michael invited him to join them. Seymour had motioned to his bodyguard to keep a lookout.

He took one look at Cole and Ethan, evaluated their fitness levels and asked if they knew Tai Chi. Their negative response had been all the prompting he needed.

"In China everyone does it, old and young. It fuses hard martial forms with the softer," he paused and changed his focus to Michael. "And speaking of fusion, how is the lovely Fiona?"

"She was fine the last time I saw her," Michael said calmly.

Seymour glanced at Cole and Ethan, elevated his eyebrows and started to use his hands to describe Fi's shape before he thought twice and slapped them back down on the table. "You know her? Female badass. Indescribable moves, molten hot action‒"

Michael interrupted. "I'll tell her you said hi, Seymour."

"She still happy with the new laser targeting assist?"

Michael nodded and was about to change the subject when Seymour's eyes grew big, and his faintly Rasputin hair and beard seemed to grow even wilder than usual. He blinked slowly and met Michael's gaze, looked down at his hand then back up. His complexion paled.

"Tell me Fiona put that ring there, man, because if she didn't, the universe is seriously out of balance."

"The universe is still in balance," Michael responded dryly.

Seymour slumped back in the chair and relaxed. "Glad you didn't argue with destiny; it'll kick your ass." With that he sat up and leaned forward. "So, Michael, what brings you here? You checking up on Derek or . . . ?"

"Looking for someone I used to do business with."

Seymour scowled and motioned to his bodyguard who had been sitting at a table across from them, watching. "Jackass, over here."

The man came to stand between them.

"Name?"

"Justin Walsh." Michael shrugged, "Last time I saw him was in Santiago."

Seymour and his bodyguard exchanged a quick glance and Seymour shook his head. "No. Sorry."

Michael looked back at the bodyguard who was still shaking his head. Seymour stood.

"Hey, good to see you again, man. Send Fiona my love."

"Will do." Michael watched Seymour and his bodyguard make a fast exit.

"So . . . he's here." Ethan said.

"Yeah. Somewhere." Michael smiled with satisfaction. Seymour had just verified the report Raines received several days before they left Miami.

"And they don't like him or they're afraid of him," Cole said then paused. He looked at Michael. "Out of curiosity, what would your wife be doing with laser targeting assist?"

"Nothing these days," Michael said as he slid on his sunglasses and started walking back to where Raines was holed up, listening and probably grinding his teeth. Cole and Ethan split and went opposite directions.

#

#

#

Bait.

He sitting the open at the same restaurant location he'd been at yesterday with Ethan and Cole. It was an area known to harbor an eclectic collection of people who rarely operated on the right side of any law. But the breeze off the river was nice, and some of the food was palatable.

Michael had assigned himself the role of bait after thinking through possibilities, because it offered the shortest route to his goal and greatest potential for success.

When Walsh's auction plans for the NOC list vanished after Jesse, Sam, Michael and Fi had stolen the drive, he kept the millions in auction entry fees to reinvent himself and transformed most of the cash into a gun running operation.

Walsh knew who was responsible for stealing the NOC list he'd planned to auction.

They had already learned he'd been in Miami recently, and had been in contact with Management. And then there was Jesse's fortunate penchant for extra security that revealed Walsh's presence the night before the drive disappeared from Raines' not so secure biometrically locked safe.

The camera Jesse placed, another one Raines had been unaware of, verified their suspicions. It was a logical assumption Walsh would rejoin Management and Anson at some point, and the moment Raines' contacts reported Walsh had been seen with Management and Anson and were apparently reestablishing themselves in Suriname, it was time to strike.

The objective was simple. Find and arrest Walsh. Find and arrest Management. Find and arrest Anson. Charge them with treason, imprison them, get convictions and lock them away for the rest of their miserable lives.

Making that happen wasn't simple.

For one thing, Walsh, Management and Anson had to know they were being hunted. The death of Raines' security guards at his Miami offices told them that.

When the files they suspected buried deep inside the NOC list were brought into the light, a broad spectrum of arrests were made with surgical precision, the news of which had been squelched. So far. Most of those not arrested during the first sweep were gathered up in the second. But there remained a number of operatives, agents and others at large beyond Walsh, Anson and Management.

It wasn't until Raines' completed analysis of those not yet detained that he became aware and fully understood Anson's stealth but anchoring role in Management's black ops group. The unknown enemy was no longer unknown.

Uncovering that vital piece of information, that key player was the ah ha moment. The central puzzle piece that had been missing for so long had been found. The reason all things continued to lead back to the same place was because they did.

Michael had not been the only spy burned by Anson and Management. But he was the only one who had continually resisted their efforts to turn him into their operative. To be owned by them. And, he was the only one who still survived.

"They have to be put down," Raines stated when Michael returned Anson's file to him after he'd given it to Fi to read while she was in the hospital with their twins.

"Like rabid dogs," Michael agreed, remembering Jesse's words.

Which was the mindset Raines and company employed. However, how to accomplish that often brought disagreement between the warriors.

Preparation was one thing; thinking on your feet, the other. Michael assured Raines the differences between their approaches on how to best accomplish their goal was only in point of view; Raines had never been a field operative.

Raines understood Michael's objective but cautioned him. "If something happens to you, even if it was _your _idea, I'm the one who'll have to deal with your wife," he said, and then added, "And your mother. And your friends."

As it turned out, Michael's suggestion to turn himself into bait worked well enough. But sometimes, the wrong fish takes the bait.

He was sitting by himself in the restaurant, a local newspaper and a small cup of strong black coffee on the table in front of him, when an agitated Seymour appeared.

_"How the hell do you know Eli Zamar?"_ he demanded in a loud whisper, and motioned for Michael to get up and head to the alley behind the restaurant.

The darkened space was filled with skittering vermin and the stench of foul, overflowing trash containers from the restaurant. Seymour positioned himself behind Michael and used his .45 to nudge him forward, pushing him deeper into alley. He stopped, and shoved Michael's back and then his shoulder to turn him around.

Michael winced because his shoulder injury hadn't healed completely. Seymour was flushed under his wild beard, and dripping with perspiration.

His bodyguard positioned himself halfway between them and the alley entrance so he could watch both the front and back.

"He kept calling you Remington. Said his kid saw us talking yesterday, so he knows I know you. You don't piss off an old Mossad agent! He said you're the reason he moved his operation out of Miami. Tell me you didn't steal his warehouse full of guns. He thinks you're a fed. Dammit!"

"Seymour, this is not a problem," Michael said as he ran through possibilities while Seymour dropped details. He decided to simplify with a bare but honest explanation.

When it came to his business, Seymour's scattered personality was laser focused. He tapped Michael's chest with the barrel of his .45. "Yesterday, you wanted to know where that psycho Walsh is. Now Zamar wants to know how I know you. You're messing with my supply chain, man. Is Fi running guns again? I swear, this is going to end our beautiful friendship."

The sound of voices in the alley entrance briefly shifted Seymour's attention which allowed Michael the opening to make two quick moves, relieving Seymour of his weapon. He twisted his arm behind his back and held it.

When Jackass headed toward him, Michael used the gun to wave him back. He shoved Seymour away and retained his .45.

"Why does he think I'm a fed?"

Seymour's eyebrows veed together. "Duh. The guns you took never showed up anywhere. And he was watching."

Michael nodded. "Three things, Seymour. I don't discuss who I do business with. That includes you when I do business with you. Fi is not running guns. And do you really think I'm a fed?"

Seymour relaxed slightly. "Zamar?"

"Zamar does know me as Remington. Tell him if he wants to talk, I'm around."

Seymour blinked and backed up. "That's stupid, man. That guy and his kids, they're scary bad news."

Michael released the clip from the .45, slipped it in his pocket and handed the unloaded weapon back to Seymour as Cole and Ethan appeared at the alley entrance.

A half an hour later, Raines found himself agreeing completely with Seymour's assessment of the situation.

#

#

#

Raines' face was almost as red as Seymour's had been. _"How in the hell do you know Eli Zamar?"_

In the world of arms traffickers, Eli, Ilan and Ari Zamar were well known and widely feared.

"Short story, really," Michael said. "Several years ago, the Zamars were pressuring a friend who wanted them to stop, so we-"

Raines interrupted. "We?"

"Sam, Fi and me."

"Go on."

"So we convinced his youngest son we had some high quality merchandise to sell, and needed a distributor. We wanted assurances his operation was secure, so we asked him to show us, well, me, their warehouse. Then we removed the reason they were in Miami. Guns. A lot of guns. They left the next day," Michael explained.

"And the guns?"

"Rusting at the bottom of Biscayne Bay. We can turn this into a positive, Raines. Zamar wants his pound of flesh. I think I'll give him Walsh."

Raines' mood slowly lightened. "Interesting."

Also well known was the Zamar interest in supporting Israel's allies, including enemies of their enemies. If one had to deal with an illegal arms dealer, the former Mossad officer and his sons were clearly not the usual sort. They were known to be highly demanding and scrupulously honest, an odd combination for illegal traders in one of the ugliest businesses on the planet.

And if Raines knew Walsh had just sold a boatload of weapons to a Palestinian front organization, Zamar knew it, too.

"Don't even think about it," Michael warned Raines. "We're _not_ here to get Zamar. We're here to get Walsh. This can work."

A minute later Raines turned and looked back at Michael. "We never could figure out why Zamar abandoned Miami."

"Well, now you know," Michael said.

#

#

#

Ethan and Cole were studying the five guards Management had gathered for his personal security detail.

Cole knew they were all locals. Easy to hire, easy to retain if you paid well, but their loyalties could be easily altered.

Michael and Raines had correctly assessed the situation. Management seemed to be running a bare bones operation now that so many levels of their organization had been demolished.

Cole and Ethan were hidden in plain view from two different vantage points in the restaurant, waiting for Management to finish his conversation with Michael who had already planted the micro tracker on Management's cane. It wasn't a government device. The thin and nearly undetectable, highly specialized item had come from Jesse's security company.

When Management got up to leave, Ethan followed. Cole, on the opposite side of the outdoor room, realized Michael had another guest. Must be the arms dealer Raines was so freaked out about. He debated abandoning his job with helping Ethan locate where Management was staying, but followed his mission objective.

Westen could take care of himself.

#

#

#

"You use more than one name," Eli Zamar said, taking the chair across from the man he now knew now to be Michael Westen.

His story as a burned spy was famous among those in espionage, those who operated in the shadows as well as the sunshine for their country.

Threatening Seymour had been useful.

It was Ari who spotted Westen first, and unlike the emotional approach he would have taken three or four years ago, he had returned and discussed with Eli and Ilan how best to deal with the thieving arms dealer he knew as Steve Remington. The friendly manner in which Seymour interacted with Westen and the men with him was all they needed to encourage his generous and helpful answers to their questions about his relationship with Remington.

Seymour only knew him as Michael Westen, a man he met through a woman arms trader known to be an IRA operative, a woman Seymour only knew as Westen's girlfriend who was now his wife. Eli knew of both Fiona Glenanne and Michael Westen from his work before he officially left Mossad. He knew them as lethal but honorable operatives for countries friendly with Israel.

However, Westen's theft of the arms in Eli's Miami warehouse had left all the Zamars hungry for revenge. That had been an enormous financial loss as well as a humiliation.

Westen was staring at an old man using a cane as he walked away from his table. It didn't appear as if they'd had a good meeting since Westen's jaw was squarely clenched. Eli knew Westen had seen him arrive while he'd been talking to the old man.

Eli could also see he was controlling an impulse. Whoever the old man was, Westen wanted to kill him. Now he turned his focus to Eli. A different man might have found that icy predatory gaze uncomfortable.

"I do."

Eli leaned against the back of the chair and crossed his legs. "I was very angry with you for several years, Mr. Westen."

Michael shrugged, almost apologetically, and masked the demeanor he had worn a few moments ago when Eli arrived.

"Then one day I realized you taught my son Ari a great lesson, one I had been unable to teach. Do you have sons?"

Michael met his gaze but didn't reply.

"Then you know how difficult some children can be. Ari is not the man today you knew in Miami. He is far more cautious. Far more serious. He trusts no one."

"This pleases you."

"It does." Zamar smiled. "Your sons should watch your back better." He glanced toward the building where one of the young men who sometimes accompanied Westen had been watching the restaurant.

"Not my sons," Westen said, then paused. "I wonder if I can make amends for my bad manners in regard to your son?"

"You would like to return my merchandise?"

Michael tapped his fingers on the table before answering. "I would like to give you some information. Would it be of interest to you to know where Justin Walsh will be tomorrow at noon?"

At the mention of Walsh's name, Zamar could not keep his expression from hardening. "What do you know of him?"

"I took something valuable from him once. He is still angry."

Eli leaned back in his chair, assessing Westen's stoic body language. "You are a thief."

"Not unless I need to be."

For a moment, Eli said nothing, then he reached inside his jacket pocket for a gleaming brass cigarette case. With slow, measured movements, he snapped it open, took a cigarette, snapped it shut and lit the cigarette before speaking. He exhaled a long stream of acrid smoke, sure of his assessment. "You are CIA. Again. You are no longer out."

"And you are Mossad. You never left."

Eli waited.

"His warehouse is several miles inland. He has arranged for the sale of some .50 cals and RPGs to some of his friends." He reached inside his shirt pocket and slid a business card across the table to Eli.

The card told Eli that Westen had anticipated this meeting. He reached for the card and extinguished his cigarette by dropping it into Westen's coffee cup. It was a small, deserved insult. He picked up the card, glanced at the map on the back and put it inside his jacket pocket. "Ari will not bother you."

"And my friends will not bother you."

He nodded to Michael and stood to leave. Westen had just confirmed the information Ilan learned this morning. Who better to verify that than a CIA operative?

#

#

#

"We have to separate them," Ethan said.

"Yeah, " Cole agreed. "Isolate him from his security, immobilize the guys with guns first, then we take him."

They were observing the activity at the gate outside a private residence near the old hotel and guesthouse section of the city. The buildings had to have been built several hundred years earlier, given appearances.

Gathering intel on the building, the occupants and the traffic pattern had been boring but useful. They had been there long enough today to know the five guards were all outside, smoking and laughing among each other, while Management was inside. He'd left and had returned about an hour ago.

Neither was prepared to see Michael approach the building on foot. He'd apparently walked the distance from the restaurant to the residence. Two guards stationed outside stopped him at the door before accompanying him into the building. Two more walked to the end of the old, narrow street, climbed into a large blue SUV and left.

Today, Cole and Ethan were sitting and sweating inside a rusting van emblazoned with a the name and colorful pictures of a popular fruit beverage produced in Paramaribo. Yesterday, they were watching the house from separate vantage points. Changing their venue was critical to staying undercover on this operation.

With most of the guards gone, this might be the opening they were looking for. They left the rusty van and followed Michael into the house.

Cole tested the door. It was open. Inside, a long hall led to a central room on the lowest level. Their soft crepe soled shoes were stealthy silent against the old stone floors. Michael was standing, facing Management who was sitting on a couch anchored by Anson at the opposite end.

If it was going to happen, it had to happen fast. Michael and Raines told them it would happen like this, to be constantly alert.

Cole and Ethan nodded to each other and moved forward.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

"Now," Michael said and closed the phone.

As soon as Zamar walked away, Michael made his one-word call to Raines.

Raines returned his call within minutes and verified Management's current location, using Jesse's high-tech tracker.

Thirty minutes later, Michael strolled up to Management's front door. He could see where Cole and Ethan were stationed, watching, and knew they would be right behind him.

If Management was alone, fine. If not, and he had the opportunity to take both of them, that would be fine, too. Now that he'd played his Walsh card with Zamar, it was time to move. Fast.

He had not been surprised when the old man appeared at his table this morning. After all, he was the bait, and piranhas bit. However, he had been surprised to see Zamar arrive, which alerted him to the fact that the man probably wanted his head on a platter sooner instead of later.

What he hadn't been prepared for was his own instantaneous, white hot response to another one of Management's offers to provide a home for himself and Fiona in his organization. It had never mattered how many times he'd said no. Or that Fiona had said the same thing.

This time, though, he knew what and who was behind Management and why they kept playing the same card. Michael tamped down his instinctive response, planted the tracker, slowed his breathing and said "no" one last time.

Management's parting words had been, "we'll see you soon then."

After he had finished his conversation with Zamar, he decided _soon_ would be _now_.

#

#

#

There was a rhythm, a synchronous sequence for those working in unison who shared the physical quickness and mental facilities needed to accomplish a task. They knew when it was going right, and they knew when it was going wrong.

It was going right.

More than five years of frustration produced the calming heart of anger that had fueled and driven Michael. Ethan and Cole were arms of the same body, working in an operational tempo exquisite for its harmony.

Management and Anson were about to become The Manipulated.

Michael, Cole and Ethan had not rehearsed, but their timing and execution were as perfect as if they had been Olympic competitors.

They had discussed their approach with Raines, and everyone was on the same line of the same page of script for the final act of this operation. On the pretext of wanting to speak with Management, Michael had entered first. He was escorted by two guards. Ethan and Cole were thirty seconds behind them.

Michael stood in front of Management, silent. Anson, seated next to him on a long, narrow leather banquette, was working on a laptop on the low table in front of him. "We knew you'd come," he said with arrogant assurance.

Then Ethan stepped inside to the left, while Cole moved to the right. In movements mirroring each other, the two local guards standing at the entrance of the room dropped. Tased.

Michael almost smiled when the look of fear crossed Management's face. Anson seemed to be disbelieving of what was happening right in front of his eyes.

As fast as Management pulled his weapon, Michael took it from him. In one smooth and swift motion he turned his wrist and used it to deliver a quick upper cut to Anson's jaw. Apparently, Anson's jaw was made of glass, because he slumped instantly. Cole zip tied Management's hands behind his back and pasted a block of adhesive over his mouth. Ethan wrenched Anson's hands behind his back and zip tied them. Michael affixed the tape over Anson's mouth and grabbed the laptop.

As Ethan left to collect the van he met the previously unaccounted for guard who had come to investigate the whereabouts of his companions. With the taser still in his hand, Ethan immobilized that guard as quickly as the others. The silent sequence of events took less than 3 minutes from the time Michael entered the house until they stuffed Anson and Management into the van to transport them to the location Raines had prearranged as a holding facility. Michael flipped open his phone and sent a text to Raines.

All they needed to do now was wait for Raines so they could travel to where air support would be waiting.

Michael took a deep breath. The insurmountable mountain he'd been climbing for the past five and a half years had been almost leveled.

When Anson opened he eyes, he was laying on a wooden crate in a dim warehouse near a dock on the river. He was handcuffed and chained to leg cuffs; a tape block muted his ability to speak. Cole looked down and evaluated him. Michael slouched against another crate and watched as Anson shriveled into himself. Cole had an intimidating 50 pounds of muscle and six to eight inches of height over him.

Cole and Ethan exchanged a glance. They realized their presence was as fearsome to the men they hunted as Michael had predicted.

Management was trussed in an identical fashion, and wore a similar wary expression, but he had been fully conscious throughout the extrication.

Not allowing them to speak, nor speaking to each other, was a decision Michael and Raines had made early on in regard to capturing them.

It was a meeting of the minds that startled the youngest team members, who by now were accustomed to listening to them debate their different approaches.

"We'll use silence as a weapon," Raines said.

"I think de Gaulle said that," Michael added. "And he was right. Silence is a powerful weapon."

"It'll only work as long as we all agree. Are we agreed?" Raines demanded.

They were.

If anything, Raines was far more seriously committed to silence than Michael. His insistence had a purpose. He planned to interrogate both Anson and Management. Separately. He expected Michael to listen, observe, monitor, interpret and advise but _not_ to engage.

"They'll be defending their actions," Raines told Ethan and Cole. "But they'll be waiting and watching for Westen. They'll expect he'll want revenge of some nature. When they start asking to speak to him, that's when we will have extracted vengeance."

For the men who thought they could control Michael Westen with their basic knowledge of his childhood, youth and career as an operative, the dismissal would be the ultimate affront, the ultimate scorn. There was much power in using psychological tools against them, Raines said.

"Couldn't agree more," Michael said.

Ethan laughed then. "You two are _agreeing_?"

"Wow. Miracles can happen," Cole added, which earned him a sharp glance from Raines.

"They're quick studies," Michael told Raines who looked heavenward for a moment before returning to business.

"Actually," Michael told Cole and Ethan, "we agree a lot, our differences are minimal."

As planned, they had maintained silence while they waited for Raines. Ethan and Cole were extremely interested in observing the technique, and played their individual roles as tough, silent enforcers.

Raines met them within the hour as did the boat that would take them to the plane that would hop, skip and jump them back to Tampa, and then on to D.C.

Finally. Raines had the arrests he wanted, and Michael was digesting the knowledge that he was within a page or two of being able to close this ugly chapter of his life.

The gnarly problem had been identified; the most difficult tasks had been completed. What remained, in essence, was clean-up. This would be the last thing or the next to the last thing that needed to be done, depending on how the Zamars handled Walsh. Raines had a small team still in Suriname watching for the outcome of that encounter.

In less than 10 hours, they were back at Langley. Anson and Management were isolated; their cells at opposite ends and different floors of the same facility.

Cole, Ethan, Raines and Michael would be staying at Langley until Raines was ready to move the entire nasty affair into the legal realm, which would mean politicians and consequently, the media would become involved.

From the moment they returned, Raines had become extremely protective of Michael, Ethan and Cole's privacy and the roles they had played.

He knew details of the final operation would wend their way through Cowley's Congressional hearings. All the details about how a special CIA team had taken down the last of the black ops groups that had been illegally operating inside the organization for almost a decade would become fodder for microscopic examination and political interpretation.

Raines knew neither Ethan or Cole needed the exposure which would limit their future ability work as covert operatives; they had more than proved their value. And Michael Westen deserved to have his name washed of the mud that had been thrown on it for once and for all.

As Michael headed to the area known as Raines cavern, the same area where he and Max had worked months earlier, he suddenly felt the loss of Max's friendship and the grief of his death again. He needed to find a voice to would give him peace.

As soon as he was able, he found a phone, some privacy and called.

"It's almost done," he told Fiona as soon as she answered the phone.

"How long before it's finished?"

"Not long, but I can't tell you how long 'not long' is, Fi."

"Everyone safe?"

"We're all good. Not a shot fired."

"I'm really glad you're all safe."

"Me, too."

"We'll be waiting, Michael."

"Until we know we have everyone, Raines will keep your guards in place. The war's ended, but we're not sure all of Management's soldiers know that yet. We're not taking risks at this end of the operation, okay?"

"Perfectly okay. We love you."

"I love you, too."

The sound of Fiona's voice had nearly disrupted his control, but he couldn't allow that. Not yet, when there were so many details to tend to. He needed to finish.

#

#

#

When the call ended, Fiona turned to see the interest and empathy on the faces of the people who had listened to every word she had spoken. Five years ago, she couldn't have known how much each of them would come to mean to her.

If anything positive had come of Michael's burn notice she only had to look around the room to realize his family had been restored, his friendships strengthened.

Much, much earlier this day, she had wakened before her boys. As the day progressed, she realized she was feeling unsettled, a bit twitchy, a bit out of sorts, a bit confined. She sensed something was happening with Michael but with no way to communicate, she was just going to have to live with the emotion, tamp it down and stay calm.

The best medicine she could think of was to invite Sam, Jesse, Maddie, Nate, Ruth and Charlie to come to dinner. Cheerful chatter could be just what she needed. Of course, Ruth declined to attend. She'd started a new job and was tired. But Nate brought Charlie, who seemed as interested in his small cousins and they were in him.

Sam and Jesse and Nate were enjoying the antics of all the Westen baby boys, but all three had started fussing, a sure sign bedtime was near.

When the phone in Fi's pocket rang, she had an explanation for her unsettled state. She knew what had happened. She reached into her pocket, flipped open the phone and answered. The only person who had that number was Michael. She'd kept the phone with her constantly since he left.

The simple fact that the phone rang meant they had retrieved Management and Anson and were coming home. Learning the rest of details would wait. She just wanted to hear Michael's voice, but her heart heard his weariness.

She couldn't move. She sat right where she was, in the middle of everyone, and talked to him.

Sam and Jesse were alert with interest, Maddie and Nate were quietly watching her while Charlie crawled around his cousins who were trying to follow his movements. The three boys were in the center of the room, providing entertainment.

Fi snapped the phone shut and looked up. She and Nate had been sitting on the floor with their sons.

"He says they got Anson and Management and are back in D.C. Not a shot fired, he said. The guards for all of us are staying for now. He'll be back when they're done, and he didn't know when that would be."

She looked at Maddie. "Five and a half years, and it's finished."

"Almost finished," Jesse corrected, in a deep, soft voice. "Lots of details to be taken care of at this point."

"And when Cowley becomes involved, it's going to get crazy," Sam added. "I'm guessing Mike will want to stay as far away as possible from all of that."

"I hope so," Maddie agreed. "I don't think I could deal with reporters. That'd be worse than dealing with people who are trying to kill you. At least you can shoot back at them."

Sam laughed. "Pretty sure Mike won't want that, either, Maddie."

"Yeah," Nate agreed. "But the biggest thing he'll have to figure out is what he wants now that he won't have to worry about somebody showing up on his doorstep trying to kill him every other week."

Fiona met Nate's gaze. She and Nate were in perfect agreement.

#

#

#

In a com room located on the opposite side of the complex from where Raines was located, Michael had watched his skillful, methodical interrogation of first Anson, and now Management.

It was Week Three, Day Six. Not that Michael was counting.

He'd been talking to Fiona several times daily, a poor substitute for being able to touch her or their sons, although she did put the phone to their ears and described their reactions to hearing his voice. The boys were almost six months old now. Fi sent photos to his phone and showed them his picture, but Michael wanted more.

He knew he could go home soon.

They were about finished; Cowley's committee recently had been briefed on the concluding operation, and were satisfied with the CIA's assurances that there no more black op teams operating either inside or outside of the organization, targeting and recruiting operatives and building international cabals.

When Michael presented Raines with the laptop computer Anson had been working on when he, Cole and Ethan captured them, one might have thought Raines had just won the lottery of all lotteries, because he had.

The laptop had a laughable, amateur level of encryption which had been easily bypassed to reveal who was next on Anson's hit list. Fiona Westen's name now appeared on the list, along with a number of current operatives, and scripted explanations of why each of those highly skilled individuals could be manipulated for Management's purposes.

That information was dangerous, and posed a troubling issue Raines knew the CIA would be dealing with for years to come.

The content on the laptop, with the exception of those targeted by Anson and Management which had been removed, was now in the hands of the legal folks, as charges were being worked up on both men.

Raines had been correct. The fact that he and not Michael, was interrogating each of them was a frustration that had grown exponentially in both Anson and Management.

Michael was taking a wicked delight in watching their increasingly irrational behaviors because Raines would not produce him.

In the amusing exchange Michael was currently observing, Anson demanded to speak to Michael. Raines had calmly responded he couldn't do that, because he didn't know where he was.

Handcuffed to the table, Anson stood abruptly and yelled. "Of course you know where he is!"

Raines just looked at him and didn't reply.

"Liar!"

This time, Raines cocked his head and evaluated Anson's red face and bulging eyes, and opened a file folder. "You have high blood pressure. Do you need to see a physician?"

"I am a . . . I . . . I need to see that, that . . ." Anson sputtered, "Westen!"

"I'll call a nurse to check you." Raines used the phone on the interrogation room wall to call for medical aid and then left.

And so it went. Raines remained cool and evenly tempered; Anson and Management grew more and more frustrated, as if they couldn't imagine Michael not wanting to face either of them.

A few moments later, he opened the door to the com room and joined Michael. They watched as a nurse checked Anson's blood pressure. The guard accompanying her advised him to stay calm. Two more guards came in and removed him from the interrogation room.

Raines looked over at Michael. "I'm thinking you're done here. For now. You need to go home. The news about this is going to make the papers by the weekend. You'll want to be out of here before then."

"Are we really done, Raines?"

"With this, we are. If you decide to follow the stories, you'll see that you, Cole and Ethan will be identified as a 'highly skilled team of elite operatives'."

"Not sure I'll be interested in the fictional accounts," Michael said.

"You know it'll happen."

Michael turned and looked at Raines. He'd been thinking about this for some time, and didn't want to leave it unspoken.

"I want to thank you, Raines. Maybe because you recruited me, I'm not sure. But you were the only person besides Max who ever expressed doubt over the burn notice. I want to thank you. I appreciate what you've done."

Raines stretched out his hand. "You're welcome, Michael. I like to think I'm a better judge of character than an agency shrink. I promise your good name will be restored once we finish this. We need to put some procedures in place to make it impossible for someone else to do what Anson and Management did to you. Maybe you can help with that."

Michael shook his hand. "Maybe I can. But not now."

Raines smiled. "I know you're anxious to go home. Now if you can convince your wife and your mother, and maybe Sam and Jesse that I'm not Jack the Ripper, I'd appreciate it."

Michael laughed. "I'll try."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Hitching a ride on a military transport was the fastest way to get from D.C. to Miami. Raines made it happen with one phone call.

It was a little after midnight when a cab dropped Michael home. He used the key code and entered the house then rearmed the lock. The guards remained. Raines hadn't yet been convinced they were no longer needed.

Exhaustion nearly overwhelmed him as he silently found his way to the bedroom. Fiona was awake, alert and sliding her 9mm back under the pillow when he appeared in the doorway.

"You didn't call," she said as she sat up and reached for him.

"I should have." His kiss was brief. Too brief.

She smiled. "I'm just glad you're home."

Michael looked around the room. "Where are the boys?"

"I moved them in their own room. I listen for them with a monitor."

He started undressing, and she climbed out of the bed to help him. Everything about him spoke of a dreadful weariness, every slow, plodding movement, even the low tone of his voice.

When he slid into the bed, she joined him and stretched her length next to his. He wrapped his arms around her, breathed in the scent of her hair and buried his face in her neck, kissing the soft skin there before moving his lips across her cheek to find her mouth. "I missed you so much."

And with that said, Michael fell into a deep sleep, his body utterly relaxed, heavy, unmoving. Fiona rested her head on his shoulder and snuggled close. As she held him, she stroked his cheek and his head, as if to encourage every ugly thing he'd dealt with in the past five and a half years to leave so he could begin healing.

When morning arrived, the boys began fussing. Fiona rose and dressed then softly closed the door behind her.

Maddie usually stopped over in the mornings to help with the boys' breakfast, this morning she called to let Fiona know she was keeping Charlie until Ruth could get off work and take him to the doctor. He was running a low grade temperature and she couldn't take him to daycare. Nate was on an out of town job with the limousine company he worked for. Fi agreed with Maddie it would be best not to expose the twins to whatever was making Charlie feel so badly.

As much as she wanted to keep Michael's return all to herself, she told Maddie he'd arrived home very late and was still sleeping.

"I promise not to come barging in like I did the last time, Fi. I'll call first," Maddie promised.

Fiona had both boys parked in their high chairs, sippy cups filled and oatmeal bowls at the ready with bananas when they started squealing and excitedly jabbering. She looked behind her and there was Michael making faces at them. He'd pulled on a pair of jeans but that was all.

She stood to give him a kiss, and asked if he wanted breakfast. "Yogurt in the fridge. Coffee on counter. Seth on the left, Justin on the right."

He laughed. "I was going to ask. My gosh, Fi. I can't tell them apart. Still Justin with the blue toe nail?"

"Yes. They are and they aren't identical . . . you'll see the longer you're around them. And Seth is louder than Justin, most of the time, but Justin is busier."

He kissed the top of both of his sons' heads and straightened Seth's bib before leaning down to kiss Fi again.

"Your mom likes coming for the breakfast antics, but she's watching Charlie today and he's got a fever so she won't be over. She said she'd call before she comes over."

Michael pulled out a chair next to Fi and grabbed a small plastic spoon. He watched Fi for a minute then copied her method of feeding their sons.

"Oh, I should warn you - " She stopped, then laughed.

Justin usually propelled his first bite of cereal forward. Fi laughed and used the cloth she'd brought with her to wipe it from Michael's bare chest.

"Good aim," Michael said around a yawn.

Breakfast for the Westen boys took a little longer than usual. They had grown so much in the past three months, sitting up by themselves, moving their arms, reaching for objects, trying to feed themselves. She could see Michael was surprised by how quickly they had changed.

Trips to the doctor's office had shown Fi that Seth and Justin were wary around strangers, but as soon as Michael spoke to them, they recognized his voice. They seemed to be trying to tell him what had been happening while he was away. Both of Michael's sons waved their chubby little arms, and talked to each other and him. Father and sons were completely engrossed in each other. Breakfast was a noisy, messy affair.

Fi wondered when Michael would realize she'd left him, or realize that he was feeding both of the boys as if he'd always done so.

Not only was he feeding them, but he was busy examining and touching them, from their chubby fingers and toes to their sweet rounded cheeks, tiny noses and perfect little ears to the silky dark hair on their heads. Two pairs of beautiful turquoise eyes framed by dark lashes followed his every move.

He turned to say something to Fi when he realized she was no longer sitting next to him. He looked up to find her leaning against the counter, sipping from a coffee cup, watching him and smiling.

His grin was a bit lopsided, and he almost seemed embarrassed. "They're so big. I didn't think . . ."

She shushed him with a kiss. "They missed you, too. Need some clean up help?"

"Just show me what you do, okay?"

"Sure." She met his troubled blue grey gaze and smiled.

#

#

#

It took Michael the next three days to tell Fiona what he'd been doing the past few months. Or, rather, tell her as much of it as he was able. Which wasn't nearly as much as he wanted to tell her, or nearly as much as she wanted to know. She wasn't any happier about it now than she had ever been.

"Damned government secrets," she said.

Once again, she had the sense that something was out of sync with Michael, something beyond fatigue from the final operation with Raines, Ethan and Cole.

The fact was he was still employed by the CIA. Raines told him to take four months of leave and report back. Beyond that, he didn't want to talk about anything related to the future. "Can we wait on some of this, Fi? We don't have to decide anything now, do we?"

Wasn't it just last year when he'd said the same thing? But then, it had been because he believed they were not finished putting an end to the black ops organization they'd been fighting. He was right about that. But it was over now. Wasn't it?

She realized the other thing that was happening was that Michael was adjusting to the new circumstances of his life, their life, and she told herself patience had never been her strong suit, but it needed to be now.

At least until he caught up on his sleep.

When the boys napped, Michael napped. At night, she'd been in the habit of going to bed much sooner than she ever had in the past, only because her stubborn lads were not yet ready to sleep through the night. So when she grew tired and went to bed, so did Michael. He was always asleep as soon as he laid down. In the week he had been home, he'd spent more time sleeping than awake.

She'd actually taken the time to add the hours he spent sleeping. Fi found herself teetering on the edge of an uncertain temper, but Michael had yet to notice.

Maddie, Sam, Jesse, Nate and Charlie had all been to the house to welcome him home. They'd arrived one at time on different days, but this evening, everyone dropped in around the same time. Dinner plans turned into a call for pizza delivery. Sam had brought beer. It'd been a lively evening, and Fi had enjoyed herself. Sam and Jesse stayed after Maddie left with Nate and Charlie.

"So how's it going? Adjusting to no longer being persona non grata? That's gotta feel good, Mikey," Sam said, tipping his bottle toward him.

Michael smiled. "It feels . . . different."

"And, hey, Mike, I've been meaning to tell you, when you're done with the CIA thing, come talk to my guys," Jesse invited. "It's interesting work with a lot fewer guns."

"Actually, I was thinking about a business."

"What kind of business?" Jesse wondered.

Sam looked up to see Fiona stop, turn around and look at Michael from across the room. She'd just come back from putting the boys in bed. It was apparent from the expression on her face that Mike's mention of a business was the first she had heard of it. And that wasn't the only thing apparent on her face.

"I don't think I'm an employee type," Michael told Jesse.

"Yeah, well, I'm built a little different than you, Westen," Jesse explained. "I like that financial security and the perks."

As Michael and Jesse continued their conversation Sam wandered over to the refrigerator to collect a fresh beer for himself. He watched Fi reach for a wine glass in the cupboard and set it back down and then pour herself some iced tea.

"So, missy. What's new with you?"

The mildly vulnerable expression on her face confirmed what Sam suspected.

"Yeah. I thought so. You haven't told him yet, have you?"

"No."

"I won't spoil your fun, Fi. Figure you're going to yell at him first. Am I right? Or am I right?"

Fiona smiled. "You know me so well."

"Well, he screwed up. You should yell at him."

She seemed mildly puzzled.

"About the business thing. Not the other thing," he said softly.

"And I just found my waist again."

Sam winked at her. "You should have thought about that earlier."

"I suppose. So tell me again, why aren't you married? Since you're so good at reading women's minds?"

Sam took a long sip of his beer. "It's sort of . . . a limited skill."

Jesse and Michael appeared in the doorway. "What's a limited skill?" Jesse asked.

"The masculine thought process or lack thereof." Fiona answered Jesse, but looked at Michael.

Jesse's mouth formed an O, and then curved into a small grin.

Sam set his half-full bottle on the counter, and motioned to Jesse. "Say goodnight, Jess."

"Goodnight Jess," Jesse mimicked but followed Sam toward the door.

"See you guys tomorrow," Sam said.

"Yeah, tomorrow," Michael said warily, as he followed and rearmed the alarm.

When he returned to the kitchen, Fi had her arms crossed and wore a familiar belligerent Irish attitude.

He closed his eyes. "The business thing. Right?"

"Right."

"It's been at the back of my mind since . . . well, since I figured out you were pregnant with the boys."

"That was a year ago."

Michael took a deep breath. "It was."

Fiona let the silence just sit there for a moment. "And tonight, to Jesse, not to me, is the first time you thought of . . . mentioning it?"

"I've been kinda busy, Fi," Michael said a bit more defensively than was wise. "No, I mean . . . "

"You haven't been busy since you came home. You've been resting and sleeping and napping and resting and sleeping."

Fiona crossed her arms and just looked at him.

After a long moment of silence, he leaned back against the door jamb and crossed his arms, too. They stood facing each other in silence, their poses mirroring each other.

A small smile played around the corners of his mouth. "You know. Silence can be used as a weapon."

Fiona raised an eyebrow. "de Gaulle said that. You've been arming yourself with it."

"Ouch." He grinned.

Because he'd said that ouch as if he didn't mean it, Fiona nearly lost her temper.

"You know all about using silence for your own purposes, Michael. It's what you've been doing since you came back. Let me know when you're ready to talk about . . . oh, what you're going to do next, or about that business you told Jesse about or whatever. We don't have to decide forever, but making plans for tomorrow or next week would be good." Fiona turned quickly and walked away.

He stopped her before she reached the bedroom door, held her rigid shoulders with gentle hands and talked to the back of her head.

"About the business thing, Fi. I'm sorry I said that to Jesse and not to you. I've been thinking about it for a long time. After we were married, I realized I didn't want my old life back, burn notice or not. How could I? But, there are only so many jobs for people who do what we do. Then when Max told me I was in trouble because I couldn't stay focused, I told him I needed to start a business like Spies Are Us. It was a joke, but later he said SAU was . . . come on, Fi. Don't be mad."

Fiona turned around and looked up into his face. "You couldn't stay focused? Why?"

"I don't know. I just couldn't. I kept thinking about you and-"

Fi put two fingers across his lips to silence him, then slid her hand up behind his head pulled his mouth down to hers. "That is the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

She tugged him toward their bed, pulling at his clothing and hers, pushing him down, surprising him with a sudden, bold hunger.

He was unprepared for Fi's passionate demands, but not so unprepared that he couldn't return every single caressing touch, every single kiss with the same ferocity she doled out.

Her much smaller body overtook his, and her hands and mouth moved restlessly over him, teasing, pleasing without mercy. Under his sweet woman's ministrations, the grey dullness that had overtaken him fled, chased away by Fiona's loving generosities.

He was unable to combat the intoxicating jubilance of being made love to by this small, exquisite woman. She did not allow his attempts to slow down or be slowed down. Time lost meaning in the heat of her aggression, and minutes slid into hours as she tirelessly moved against him, needing him, welcoming him.

When at last they found a place of serenity in the aftermath of heat and passion, Michael was surprised by several things at once. The first was how much time had passed. The second was how heavy and utterly exhausted Fiona was as she lay on top of him. He gently eased her down and raised up on an elbow to look into her flushed face.

There was too much satisfied, masculine smugness in his grin. "I should have told you sooner I was having a hard time staying focused."

He leaned down and kissed the lovely, tender spot between her chin and her ear, and she shivered in response. "I should hit you with a pillow for that remark, but I'm too tired."

A small smile spread across her lips. She inhaled deeply then yawned. "Remind me to tell you why I'm so tired lately." And then she fell asleep, his utterly exhausted woman, his wife, his own living, breathing guardian angel and mother of his children. Who, apparently, was going to give him another child.

With Fiona peacefully sleeping and the thought of another child resting serenely in his heart, Michael realized he was finally home. And at peace. No wonder Fi had been irritated with him. He looked around to retrieve a pillow that had been lost in the tumult of union, then reached down to pull the sheet that they had kicked off the bed up and over them. There was only peace as they slept.

It was still dark when Michael woke unusually alert at the sound of a rainstorm. Fiona's head was on his chest. One of her arms curved around his waist, and her slender leg anchored one of his. He lay still, remembering and savoring each moment with Fiona before they'd fallen asleep.

Fiona stretched. "You're thinking too loud," she said as she kissed his chest and raised up to look at him and smooth her fingers over his whiskery face.

"Have you been to the doctor?"

Fiona rolled over to her back. "The day before you came home. So much for the theory that you can't get pregnant if you're nursing. And Michael, if you say you're sorry, I'm going to hit you."

He turned on his side to slide his arm around her. "I'm not sorry about that, but I am sorry about some other things, Fi."

"Like . . .?"

"Us. And how we got to be us. With kids. I've been thinking about how things work out. If I hadn't been burned, then you never would have come to Miami."

"I know." He heard the sadness in her voice.

"Where did you go when you left the beach house in Italy? We've never talked about that."

The thoughts of a business had been jumbling around in Michael's memory along with Max, and the morning after he and Fi were married. When Max had apologized about interrupting their honeymoon at the loft, Fi commented that they'd already had a honeymoon in Italy. He hadn't taken time to separate his tangled thoughts until now when everything seemed much clearer.

She sighed. "There are a lot of things we've never talked about."

"We have time now."

It took her a while to collect her thoughts. "I went home. On trains mostly. That gave me a lot of time to think about what I wanted. I didn't think I could deal with you leaving again, knowing you'd stand at the end of the bed and then disappear. We always managed to meet up again, but after Paris and Italy, I knew I couldn't do that again. It hurt too much when you left."

Michael lay back, crossed his arms behind his head. "Your mother wouldn't tell me where you went. I didn't know Sean then or I would have asked him."

Fiona was utterly surprised by that. "You went to Ireland?"

"You disappeared, Fi. I'd always been able to keep track of where you were. But after Italy, you did a great job of vanishing. No one knew anything, so I went to see your mother. She told me she didn't know where you'd gone but she knew wherever it was, you wanted to get away from me. I didn't know about the . . ."

Fiona sighed. "The miscarriage. That's why she was so angry. But Sean probably would have told you where I was. I'm sorry, Michael, I was wrong not to tell you-"

"Don't." He turned over and kissed her then. "I told you before, don't say that."

Fiona smoothed her hand over his stubbly cheek.

"Want to know something strange?" he asked as he caressed her arm and shoulder, smoothing his hand along her soft skin. "I hoped you would have got pregnant in Italy."

"I wanted the same thing."

"I couldn't get rid of your phone number."

"I kept that same number because of you. But you never called it."

"I might have been afraid to."

"We've done some really dumb things, Michael. But, there are some good things that happened because you got burned."

"I know, Fi. I know." He turned to kiss her.

And then the sweet, dark, rainy morning became even sweeter. Afterward, they were peacefully entwined with each other when the monitor revealed their sons had woken. Michael got up. "I'll take care of them while you get your shower, OK?"

#

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Sam arrived sometime around eleven.

He'd watched Fiona struggle during Michael's absence, though she never said a word of complaint to indicate she worried, or that there was anything difficult about taking care of twins.

She didn't have to. It was all over her face, like a lot of other things.

And Mike?

Sam could well remember coming off long missions during his SEAL days, looking and feeling the same as Mike. Exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Spiritually. He suspected it was the latter that was causing the most trouble for him. Everything he'd been fighting was gone. At last. He knew he needed a chance to recover and get his feet back on the ground; Sam hoped that journey would be short.

Last night he'd been worried about the two of them. He was really hoping they'd put things to right after he and Jesse left.

He parked his car, climbed the steps and used the keypad to unlock the back door. When he walked into the kitchen, Fi was finishing some dishes and Michael was sitting at the table, looking through some papers.

Sam handed Michael an envelope addressed to him that Maddie had received. It was postmarked from Virginia.

He needed to assess the situation in the Westen household this morning. "OK, so we're all good here now, right?"

Fiona smiled. "Right."

He could see Mike smiling, but he never looked up. "Yes, we're good, Sam."

"Good is good. So, where my kids?"

Fiona dried her hands on a towel then turned to give Sam a kiss on his bewhiskered cheek. "Still sleeping. I think we're going to have to do away with the morning nap soon. Maybe they'll sleep through the nights that way."

"They slept through last night," Michael said.

"No they didn't."

Michael looked up quickly. "They didn't? Sorry, Fi."

"Don't worry. You'll have plenty of chances soon." Fiona looked over at Sam and smiled.

"So . . . ?" he asked the question without asking the question.

"So in another 22 weeks or more, you'll have another nephew, Sam."

Michael laughed then. "You've made up your mind already? What if it's a girl?"

"If we have a girl, that's great, but we're having another boy."

"You know they have tests for that, missy."

"She says no tests, so no tests," Michael said as he handed the letter Sam brought to Fiona.

"What's this?" She started reading and then walked over to the chair Michael had vacated and sat down. After a minute she looked up, her small face solemn.

"You've been cleared. You have your old job back." She looked back at the letter. "A burned spy no more."

"You didn't get to page two," Michael cheerfully pointed out.

Fiona flipped the page up. "Oh. You have your choice of assignments. That's wonderful, Michael."

"I already told Raines what jobs I want."

Sam snapped his fingers. "There's the monitor. I'll check the kids. You two be nice."

When he left the room, Fiona took a deep breath.

"Have you . . . what will you tell him?" she finally asked.

Michael closed the space between them and pulled her up to take her into his arms. "My choices for what I want to do now? Husband. Father. Consultant. Can you live with that?"

When Sam returned to the kitchen juggling a Westen boy in each arm, Michael and Fiona were wrapped in each other's arms.

"Aw come on, give the old guy a break and save that for later. We got some kids to feed here."


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Fiona elbowed her way through the door, a bag of groceries in each arm. Inside the breezeway of the zoo she'd called home for the past nine years, there were no fewer than a dozen pair of shoes and sandals in sizes from large to not so large waiting to be tripped over. Which she nearly did.

"Careful, Fi." Michael caught her and steadied her before taking the groceries and putting them on the counter.

"Boys," he yelled. "Go to the car and bring in the rest of the groceries for your mother."

A small chorus of Yes, Sirs echoed from the game room which Fiona had appropriately renamed the Wreck Room as six boys, each some variation of their father, ages 12, 11, 9 and 8, race walked by in mismatched pairs at Michael's bidding.

"Seth and Justin, you're in charge of the milk. No instant replay," he warned them.

"Yes, sir," the two oldest Westen twins replied.

Seth and Justin were identical in appearance, so identical in fact, that as an infant, Fiona used a dot of blue fingernail polish on Justin's toenail so she could keep their sons straight until she and Michael could keep them separated. Together, they got in more trouble than the rest of their brothers did collectively.

They were mischievous, intelligent, competitive with each other and everyone else, and loud. Frequently, they thought it great fun to impersonate each other, something most effective with strangers and their cousins. Fortunately, their brothers, grandmas and Michael and Fiona no longer needed help in distinguishing them from each other. They had learned early that maintaining parental control was critical when dealing with their two oldest children.

"And why is that?" Michael asked somewhat loudly.

"Because horse play doesn't pay," the two echoed in mutual response.

Last week Seth and Justin engaged each other in battle instead of simply transporting the milk to the house. Each was armed with not one but two gallon-size plastic milk jugs. This led to the untimely demise of most of the supply their mother had just purchased when the jugs ruptured and the contents spilled across the carport floor.

The mess expanded when Quinn and Rowan, their youngest twins, discovered four gallons of milk on a smooth concrete surface was slippery and, therefore, a slide-worthy surface, as did their brothers, Peter and Dylan.

Joining the fun and lapping up the spills were two rather large Great Pyrenees dogs, a breed known for their protective herding abilities, and a Bassett Hound whose nose could locate any boy's hiding space.

The Westen boys' pets were companions with a purpose. Whether the boys were aware or not, Michael and Fiona knew they kept their sons, each prone to wandering, from straying too far from home. The Great Pyrs were impressively sized animals and the male was more aggressively vocal than his female counterpart. However, the real threat to strangers was the Bassett whose comical appearance belied a defender's heart and whose mouth was filled with very large teeth.

Barking and yelling ensued. Shortly thereafter, Michael directed his crew in a clean-up project that started in the breezeway with hoses and brooms, and ended with dog washing, followed by showers for six boys, and the loss of television and computer privileges for the rest of the week, a punishment both the boys and their mother considered a bit harsh.

Fiona did have the presence of mind, though, to take pictures of a scowling Michael commanding his properly chastised group of dogs and dog washers. It was hard to judge by their faces who was more contrite-boys or dogs-since they were all wearing the same guilty expression. She had been laughing so hard at the two-act comedy beyond the patio windows, it'd been hard to hold the camera steady.

"Dad, will you tell Dylan it's not his turn to feed the dogs, it's mine?" Peter asked.

"Is it?" Michael looked down at the small dark headed, freckled-faced carbon copy of himself who had Fi's green eyes, smiled then glanced at Fiona for confirmation; she nodded. He tousled the hair on his son's head and patted his small sturdy shoulder. "Feed them now before everyone gets here, OK?"

First it was two identical twins, then one, then another one, then another two who were fraternal twins. Fiona had conceived and given birth to bookend twins with two single births between. She laid her hand over her mostly flat belly. Another two were on their way. She closed her eyes, briefly to extinguish a fleeting memory with a prayer for a healthy pregnancy.

It hadn't been until she was pregnant with Peter, born just a year after Seth and Justin, that it struck her exactly how close she could have come to losing them both, had she and Sam missed their shots at Larry.

Having twins, having babies had been remarkably easy for her despite her initial worries and concerns. Her doctor had told her from her very first appointment with him that she was lucky. She had not believed it then, but she did now.

Ruth, her sister-in-law, and Jesse's wife both had troubling pregnancies and difficult deliveries, but for whatever reason, Fiona's sturdy Irish genes had held her in good stead throughout all of her pregnancies. She was healthy and strong and worked at staying that way. And, she had come to understand she had been truly blessed.

Had someone told her years ago that she and Michael would become parents who would be ideally suited for a large family, she never would have believed it, but here they were, and she could not imagine a happier life.

There were plenty of critics, though, most of whom Fi met at various doctors' offices or other public places where perfect strangers would look at their family as if they had done something wrong. It was one of the times her Glenanne temper could get the better of her, so she worked at ignoring critical comments. Death had come too close to both Fi and Michael for them to disrespect the gifts they had been given. She realized it was utterly impossible to explain that to anyone unwilling to understand.

Little did she know until her mum and Madeline independently enlightened her about the generational and gestational history of twins in both families that she and Michael actually had a much above average chance for twins. A much, much above average chance. Of course, they had waited until she was expecting Quinn and Rowan before they relayed such interesting family history.

She was amazed to learn she was not the only woman on either the Glenanne or Westen sides of their family tree to give birth to multiple twins. Unusual, yes, but three sets of twins would not be a family record.

When their second set made their presence known, Michael had looked at Fi with complete disbelief. "What are the odds of that?"

"The doctor said it's around three percent for just one set of twins, so I think we're in a negative number category now," Fiona had replied.

Once the boys left to bring in groceries, Michael walked over to her, wrapped his arms around her and whispered in her ear. "What did Dr. Prentice say?"

She smiled up at him. "He said he thought we were done."

"Are we?"

"Are we?" Fiona asked softly.

"One? Two?"

She simply smiled. "What do you think, Michael?"

He took a deep breath. "Two?"

"Good guess."

"And if we have more boys?"

"Then we have more boys. Have I ever mentioned that I love all_ our boys_?"

He leaned his forehead against hers. "You have. And you still don't want to know in advance."

"Do you?"

"Nope." He pulled her fully into his embrace and kissed her deeply. The impassioned moment was on the verge of becoming something much more serious when a small chorus of snickers and giggles could be heard all around them.

"Oh, yuck, Dad," Seth muttered.

"I don't think you're supposed to be doing that in front of us," Justin said. "Seeing stuff like that could be bad for us, and it's probably even worse for children in isolated, closed environments like we have to live in, who have little social interaction outside of their families. It might turn us into serial killers."

"_Isolated_, closed environments? _Have to_ live in? What have you been reading now?" Fiona stepped out of Michael's embrace and zeroed in on her current problem child.

Justin had a voracious appetite as a reader, but she was now requiring pre-approval of all his reading material after some questionable words and images recently appeared on his tablet computer.

Michael suppressed a laugh and stopped Fiona's advance with an arm around her still tiny waist, because he caught the exchange between his sons. "No, guys. It's not happening. Nice try, but no."

"But, Dad," Seth whined. "It's not normal."

"Talk to her, okay?" Justin pleaded.

"Please?" Seth added.

"Not now," Michael emphasized. "Later. Company's coming."

Fiona slid a look of confusion to Michael then pointed to the hallway. "Thank you for your help, guys, now back to whatever you were doing."

"You were cleaning up the Wreck Room, weren't you?" Michael instructed.

Mumbled Yes, Ma'ams and Yes, Sirs followed their departure.

Fiona shook her head. "What was that about? What's not normal?"

"They're almost teenagers, Fi."

She paused from putting boxes of cereal in the pantry. "Translation?"

"They've been gathering intel. They want to go to a school with girls. Like the rest of us did. Me. Nate. Sam. Jesse. Your brothers."

The expression on her face made Michael laugh.

"It's not like they are not around girls," Fiona said. "There's Nate's girls, and Jesse's. And of course, the aunts and grandmas."

Michael laughed again. "Cousins and girls who are like your sister? Not the same kind of girls, Fi."

She threw up her hands. "A school with girls? No. No. You know we can give them a superior education to anything they'll get in a public or private school. Oh, I can't talk about this now, not when everyone's going to be here in less than an hour."

"We got it under control. Just waiting for your finishing touches," Michael said as he checked one of the big wall ovens.

Feeding a family of eight was a regular undertaking seven days a week, three times a day. Plus growing boys needed snacks. And beverages. Just the daily run to the store for milk was project, even with two extra refrigerators in the garage for overflow beverage and food storage. Michael continued to veto Fi's plans to buy a cow.

For special events, they needed more of everything. Michael and Fiona were expecting the rest of their family to arrive to celebrate their mothers' birthdays.

That was one of the other discoveries they made during their first year of marriage.

Who knew their mothers shared a birth date?

Different years, but same date. The tradition had begun when their mothers celebrated the coincidence with a drink in a bar while Michael and Fiona were in the hospital, both recovering from injuries Dead Larry inflicted months before he was officially dead.

Ena Glenanne's flight from Ireland had landed two hours ago, and Madeline had met her plane and would bring her to what they now referred to as the Compound, the Westen home and business headquarters for SAU Corp. It was as secure a location as they could find, with limited access by road and water.

Michael and Fi had designed and planned their home together. It was spacious and functional, with an office building and separate garage where the Charger was stored. Next to it was an indoor range on one side, and their home and pool on the opposite. The sparse architectural details imbued a simple elegance with stucco exteriors. Naturally, the compound featured a security system that might be considered overkill but everyone in their circle of friends and family thought of as normal.

Financing it became possible because after Michael's final assignment, Raines had made sure Michael's savings, checking and investment accounts frozen at the time he was burned, were released and restored. He also received more than five years pay previously denied because of the illicit burn notice.

Officially, he was the only reinstated operative ever welcomed to return to Langley. Almost immediately after his record was cleared and his full employment status reinstated, he retired as a full time operative with some unique and rather unusual commendations in his service record. He returned to Langley periodically as a consultant for special projects.

Raines also saw to it Sam received pay commensurate with his years of service, working with Michael as they sought to eliminate Management and Vaughn. Fiona, also received a consultant's pay for her service. Unusual yes, but Raines had made the strong case that without these individuals the CIA would be in the dark regarding the black ops group operating from within for more than a decade. Jesse's service record had been previously cleared, so Raines accounted for his work as a consultant during his service.

The most significant thing Raines had pushed the agency for was a policy revision that allowed an operative relieved of service, a burned spy, a way to refute, if necessary, evidence used to dismiss them. Michael had been instrumental in that project.

It was still fairly easy to burn a spy, and for logical reasons of national security, it needed to be. However, the new procedures allowed doors and windows to be opened, instead of shutting away an operative without official face to face review. The recourse became known as the Westen Rule, and periodically Michael was asked to consult on personnel matters around dismissing an agent.

Michael and Fi were sentimental. They'd retained the loft and ran part of the SAU security consulting operation from there. SAU was Max's suggestion; they honored his memory by using the name he'd suggested in jest.

After they purchased the building from Oleg, they expanded to an adjacent part the second floor. Oleg now rented his club space from SAU for the same rent he'd charged Michael for the loft when he first returned to Miami as a burned spy.

Sam walked in the breezeway door carrying a couple of large gift bags. "Party on schedule? I know you said I should, Fi, but didn't feel like inviting the new lady friend to a family thing."

A loud noise that seemed a bit too close to an explosion came from the Wreck Room. Michael moved instantly that direction and Fi let him take charge since she was putting the finishing touches on a large tray of veggies and dips.

"Or your new lady friend told you to get lost," Fi observed, as she washed her hands again and reached into the fridge. "Here." She handed him a beer. "Sorry about that. I know you liked her, Sam."

He took the bottle, then stopped her by sliding a finger under her chin. He smiled, shook his head and winked. "You know, as soon as the two of you figure out what's making this happen, you'll stop having kids."

Fiona shushed him. "Tonight's a birthday party, and I don't want my mum or Madeline to know yet, OK?"

"How many this time?" Sam asked.

"Two," Michael said from behind him.

Fiona looked up. "I didn't tell him."

Sam grinned. "She never has to-she's got the look."

"What was that in there?" Fi asked.

"What that was is all better now. Or it will be when that lamp is repaired."

Fiona looked up, worried. "Not my ginger jar lamp?"

"One and the same," Michael said, unable to hide a small smile. "We can get you another one."

"I know that's exactly just what you want, Michael, but I love that lamp. We used it at the loft."

Sam had been listening to the ugly lamp debate for at least five years, so he changed the subject for them. "What was that? Football?"

"Soccer ball."

"I thought I was clear when I said all spherical objects have to stay outside from now on." Fiona handed him one of the trays to transport to the picnic area, and handed the other one to Sam.

"I don't think Dylan was in the room when you issued that executive order."

"Oh, good," Sam said, as he backed through the breezeway door with his veggie tray. "Look who's here, the grammas. And Father Hector."

The priest who had married Michael and Fiona had become a trusted counselor and frequent guest in their home. After the twins were born and Raines had made Michael aware of Anson's horrific, manipulative role in his life, he realized the only person capable of answering the questions he had about fighting the evil he knew Anson and Management to be was a warrior who had become a priest.

Jessie and Nate pulled in right behind Maddie and Ena. Jesse married the woman of his dreams, Jana, another security specialist. Their two daughters, Cara age 11, and Sissy, 9, were just as competitive as the Westen brothers.

Nate's Charlie, the first Westen grandchild, had just turned thirteen: his sister Kate was also 11, and little Sara was only 4. She could be found sitting on her Uncle Mike's lap any time he was around. She'd been a little older than two when she'd had leaned too far over the edge their pool and had fallen in the deep end. Michael had reacted faster than anyone and had retrieved her. He'd been her favorite uncle ever since.

Nate's wife Ruth had started coming to more family events after Fiona's gentle, insistent invitations, and Maddie frequently found a moments to thank Fiona for her role in giving her the large loving family she had always wanted but could never imagine existing.

Michael, Nate and Sam helped bring out the platters of chicken and hamburgers, while Jana and Ruth helped Fiona bring salads and the roasted corn on the cob.

"Oh, good, he's here," Fiona said, as a car pulled up and a solitary figure started walking toward the picnic area. Rowan and Quinn ran toward him and started talking excitedly about the new, child-sized guitars he had sent them. Raines' hobby, they had discovered, was playing classical guitar, and the youngest Westen twins had been first mesmerized by the music and then mesmerized by knowledge that they could learn to play. He'd promised he'd help them learn.

Sadly, Raines had lost his wife last year, shortly after he'd retired from the CIA. Without other family to anchor him to the D.C. area, Michael and Fiona asked him to think about relocating to Miami. He got as far as Boca Raton and settled recently. He would be making frequent trips to Miami to periodically advise SAU clients in the future.

All told, when it was time to eat, there were 21 people sitting around Michael and Fiona's picnic tables, eleven of whom were five feet tall or smaller. Father Hector led the blessing for the food, and the birthday party began in earnest. It was loud and no one minded.

There was an elegantly lettered sign displayed prominently on a wall in the Westen home. Fiona had hung it in their spacious kitchen, the heart of their home, the place where inevitably everyone gathered.

_Joy is the most infallible sign_

_of the presence of God._

Fi had placed the well-known quote from a French priest in their kitchen because the words were not only something they believed, it was something they lived.

_- END -_

_This story is for Erin, a lovely Irish lass_


End file.
